S  BERKELEY 
.IBRARY 
iNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 


A    NEWPORT   AQUARELLE, 


A    NE IV PORT 

AQUARELLE. 


THE    CASINO,     NEWPORT. 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS      BROTHERS. 
1883. 


Copyright,   1883, 
BY  ROBERTS  BROTHERS. 


(Tamfarttigr : 

PRINTED     BY    JOHN    WILSON    AND     SON, 
UNIVhKSITY    PKESS. 


A  NEWPORT  AQUARELLE 

CHAPTER  I. 

"  WHO  is  that  tall  girl  with  Mrs.  Fallow- 
Deer?" 

"  You  have  been  in  Newport  twenty-four 
hours  and  don't  know  ?  Why,  that  is  Gladys 
Carleton.  You  've  heard  of  her,  of  course  ?  " 

11  Can't  say  I  have.  A  New  York  belle,  I 
suppose,  from  her  get-up  ?  " 

"  Yes;  her  ambition  is  to  be  taken  for  an 
English  girl,  though,  of  course,  you  detected 
the  spurious  imitation  of  your  countrywo 
men.  At  what  point  does  the  Anglo  veneer 
fail  to  cover  the  American  girl  ? " 

"  I  should  n't  say  she  was  veneered  at  all, 
but  she  's  a  typical  New  Yorker.  I  can't  tell 
you  exactly  where  the  difference  lies,  but  I 

099 


6  A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

could  pick  you  out  a  New  York  girl  from  a 
crowd  of  specimen  women  from  every  town 
in  England  and  America.  They  have  a  way 
of  holding  their  elbows,  and  a  certain  half- 
arrogant,  half-flirtatious,  entirely  fetching 
poise  of  the  head,  that  beats  all  the  other 
women  in  creation." 

"  I  being  a  New  Yorker,  thank  you  for  the 
compliment.  Do  you  think  Gladys  Carleton 
a  beauty  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  should  if  you  were  not  here  ;  I 
can  hardly  tell.  My  eyes  are  rather  dazzled. 
If  Miss  Carleton  is  your  friend,  won't  you 
present  me  to  her  ?  " 

The  lady  addressed  seemed  not  altogether 
pleased  at  this  request,  but  she  answered,  - 

"  Oh  yes  ;  I  will  stop  her  when  she  passes 
back  this  way.  I  cannot  leave  my  seat,  or  I 
shall  never  get  another." 

The  speakers  were  seated  in  the  long  cres 
cent-shaped  corridor  of  the  Newport  Casino. 
The  hands  of  the  quaint  golden  clock  on  the 
tower  of  the  outer  courtyard  pointed  to  the 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  7 

hour  of  twelve.  It  was  mid-day,  and  all  the 
fashionable  world  of  Newport  was  gathered 
within  the  aristocratic  enclosure  just  named. 
Some  of  the  more  energetic  people  were  play 
ing  lawn  tennis  in  the  fine  grounds  of  the 
inner  courtyard,  which  separates  the  semi 
circle  of  the  open  corridor  from  the  theatre 
and  racket  court.  Others  were  lunching 
luxuriously  in  the  well-appointed  restaurant, 
and  a  few  of  the  more  serious-minded  butter 
flies  were  sitting  in  the  comfortable  reading- 
room,  where  ladies,  as  well  as  gentlemen,  are 
admitted  to  read  the  news,  and  write  their 
impressions  of  the  place  to  their  less  fortu 
nate  friends  and  relatives,  broiling  in  town  or 
rusticating  in  Maine.  But  the  great  crowd 
of  people  were  assembled  in  the  open  corri 
dor,  listening  to  the  music  of  the  band,  which 
at  that  moment  was  playing  the  exhilarat 
ing  strains  of  the  "  Merry  War."  Seated  on 
either  side  was  a  double  row  of  people,  who 
laughed  and  chatted  with  each  other,  criticis 
ing  the  less  fortunate  late-comers  who  had 


8  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

found  no  seats,  these  last  having  no  other 
resource  than  to  walk  up  and  down  between 
the  two  rows  of  well-dressed  men  and  wo 
men.  The  most  popular  of  the  ladies  held 
little  courts  of  their  own  at  different  points 
of  the  corridor,  and  were  surrounded  by 
circles  of  men,  of  whom  they  spoke  to  their 
husbands  as  friends,  to  their  lady  acquaint 
ances  as  beaux. 

The  lady  who  had  promised  to  stop.  Miss 
Carleton  as  she  passed  by,  had  succeeded  in 
securing  for  herself  a  seat  close  to  the  steps 
which  led  down  from  the  corridor  to  the  ten 
nis  courts, —  a  veritable  coigne  of  vantage, 
from  whence  every  eligible  man  who  passed 
up  or  down  the  steps  could  be  arrested  by  a 
smile  or  a  word.  She  had  hurried  her  toilet 
in  order  to  be  early  on  the  ground  and  make 
sure  of  the  coveted  spot.  It  was  not  to  be 
wondered  at  that  she  was  not  in  haste  to 
surrender  it,  in  order  to  oblige  Mr.  Cuthbert 
Larkington  by  an  introduction  to  Gladys 
Carleton.  She  did  not  intend  to  surrender 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  9 

cither  her  scat  or  her  cavalier,  for  Larkington 
was  certainly  the  most  stylish-looking  man  in 
the  whole  Casino,  and  was,  besides,  sure  to 
become  the  lion  of  the  season.  He  had  ar 
rived  in  Newport  only  the  day  before,  bring 
ing  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Fallow- Deer.  He  had 
been  told  that  the  only  thing  necessary  to 
open  all  doors  in  that  exclusive  society  to 
an  Englishman  was  the  patronage  of  this 
distinguished  lady.  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer  had 
a  right  to  the  high  position  she  held  in 
Newport  society.  She  was  by  birth  a  Van 
Schuylkill,  of  New  York,  and  belonged  to 
one  of  the  old  Dutch  families,  who  had  al 
ways  stood  well  in  Manhattan,  since  the  days 
when  their  ancestor,  Peter  Van  Schuylkill, 
came  out  among  the  earliest  settlers.  In 
her  youth  Miss  Van  Schuylkill  had  accom 
panied  her  father  to  England,  whither  he  had 
been  sent  as  American  Minister,  and  while 
there  she  had  been  sought  in  marriage  by 
Mr.  Fallow-Deer,  an  English  gentleman,  of 
large  fortune.  After  thirty  years  of  wedded 


10  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

life  in  the  mother  country,  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer 
had  returned  to  the  home  of  her  youth,  a 
widow,  and  a  very  rich  woman.  She  had 
soon  made  her  house  in  New  York  one  of 
the  most  attractive  in  the  city.  A  social 
leader  she  was  born  to  be,  always  had  been, 
and  was  likely  to  die  in  harness.  She  had 
certain  eccentricities,  but  was  essentially  con 
ventional  in  thought  and  conversation  ;  she 
had  talked  so  much  society  talk  that  it  was 
impossible  for  her  to  doff  her  worldly  man 
ner  and  her  social  vernacular,  which  she 
carried  into  her  most  intimate  domestic 
life.  From  her  long  residence  in  England, 
she  had  come  to  be  considered  by  the  men 
and  women  of  her  set  as  a  sort  of  oracle  of 
les  convenances. 

On  arriving,  Mr.  Larkington  had  called  at 
Mrs.  Fallow-Deer's  to  deposit  his  card,  his 
letter,  and  a  bunch  of  flowers,  which  Fadden 
the  florist  assured  him  was  the  finest  bouquet 
he  had  made  up  that  season.  The  result  of 
his  attention  had  been  an  invitation  to  din- 


A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  II 

ner  that  very  evening,  which  he  had  accepted 
with  dignified  effusion.  He  had  taken  his 
Anglophilic  hostess  down  to  dinner,  and  lis 
tened  with  respect  and  attention  to  her  six- 
month-stale  stories  of  the  sayings  and  doings 
of  H.  R.  H.  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and  the 
worshipful  members  of  his  especial  set. 
Larkington  had  found  a  good  deal  of  amuse 
ment  during  the  dinner  in  his  right-hand 
neighbor.  She  was  a  pretty  woman  of  the 
Venus  de  Medicis  type,  which  is  by  no  means 
uncommon  among  American  women. 

Mrs.  Craig  was  not  beautiful,  though  he 
had  told  her  before  the  dessert  that  she  was ; 
but  she  was  the  perfection  of  prettiness. 
Small,  without  being  undersized,  with  charm 
ing  curves  of  face  and  figure,  a  well-shaped 
face  and  head,  blond  hair,  deep-gray  eyes, 
and  a  mouth  which,  though  well  cut,  was  too 
narrow  and  bloodless  to  betoken  a  generous 
or  passionate  nature.  She  had  received  the 
Englishman's  attentions  writh  cordiality  and 
friendliness,  and  had  promised,  as  he  escorted 


12  A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

her  to  her  carnage,  to  meet  him  at  the  Casino 
the  next  morning  at  twelve  o'clock. 

Mrs.  Craig  had  found  Larkington  await 
ing  her  at  the  entrance  of  the  Casino,  and, 
after  one  anxious  glance,  had  become  reas 
sured,  and  laughed  at  her  own  fears  lest  he 
should  not  be  "  presentable  by  daylight." 

"  In  the  evening,"  Mrs.  Crai^  had  aimied 

O '  O  O 

to  herself,  "  any  man  can  look  swell ;  but  it 
is  the  morning  dress  which  really  shows 
his  social  status  and  the  club  to  which  he 
belongs." 

Mrs.  Craig  had  not  exaggerated  the  effect 
which  her  entrance  with  the  distinguished- 
looking  "  new  arrival "  would  make  on  the 
crowd  of  people  at  the  Casino,  already  tired 
of  each  other's  faces,  though  the  season  was 
but  three  weeks  old.  The  women  all  stopped 
talking  as  she  passed,  and  the  men  looked 
curiously  at  "  the  new  Englishman  Mrs. 
Craig  had  in  tow."  If  the  lady's  manner 
had  on  the  previous  evening  been  cordial 
to  Mr.  Larkington,  it  might  now  have  been 


A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  13 

called  familiar;  for,  conscious  that  the  eyes 
of  all  her  friends  and  enemies  were  centred 
upon  her,  she  assumed  that  air  of  condescend 
ing  possession  which  women  of  her  nature 
show  to  the  men  with  whom  their  names 
are  more  or  less  connected.  During  the 

C.5 

first  half-hour  things  had  gone  very  well, 
and  she  had  remained  in  undisturbed  pos 
session  of  the  new  man,  who  was  —  greater 
triumph  —  an  Englishman.  She  had  intro 
duced  him  to  her  husband,  who  came  "  clum- 
bering"  along,  to  use  one  of  her  coinages 
of  language,  to  Mr.  Belhomme,  the  Master  of 
the  Hounds,  to  the  respected  President  of 
the  Casino,  and  to  the  ruling  spirit  of  the 
Redwood  Club. 

These  gentlemen  had  all  received  Larking- 
ton  with  cordiality  and  consideration,  and 
Mrs.  Craig  had  the  ineffable  joy  of  stealing 
Mrs.  Fallow-Deer's  thunder,  and  playing  pa 
troness  to  the  good-looking  foreigner.  But 
her  triumph  was  short-lived ;  and  when  Mrs. 
Fal low-Deer  appeared  upon  the  scene,  bear- 


14  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

ing  down  with  full  sail  to  a  spot  where  chairs 
were  quickly  placed  for  her  and  her  com 
panion,  Gladys  Carleton,  the  eyes  of  the  prize 
roamed  anxiously  in  their  direction. 

Mrs.  Craig  was  on  her  mettle:  the  equivo 
cal  expression  with  which  she  looked  full  into 
the  eyes  of  Larkington  was  one  which  she 
rarely  allowed  herself  to  use  in  society ;  and 
the  laughter  which  babbled  from  her  lips 
was  silver-sweet  in  tone,  but  when  she  spoke 
her  voice  was  sharpened  by  anxiety. 

Mrs.  Fallow-Deer,  having  seated  her  ample 
person,  and  spread  out  her  gorgeous  raiment, 
soon  espied  the  group  of  which  Mrs.  Craig 
was  the  centre,  and,  having  attracted  Larking- 
ton's  attention,  gave  him  a  superb,  rocking- 
horse  bow,  fall  of  consideration  and  sweet 
ness.  The  true  state  of  affairs  at  once 
became  evident  to  her,  and,  turning  to  the 
bearer  of  her  fan,  a  young  aspirant  to  fashion, 
she  said,  "  Won't  you  kindly  ask  Mrs.  Craig 
if  she  can  tell  me  the  hour  of  the  rendezvous 
for  the  picnic  to-morrow?" 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  15 

The  move  was  a  successful  one.  Mrs. 
Craig,  turning  to  speak  to  the  young  myr 
midon,  Larkington  was  left  untrammelled 
by  her  wooing  glance,  and  with  a  hurried 
u  Excuse  me  for  one  moment,"  he  crossed 
the  corridor  and  entered  the  enemy's  lines. 

"  So  glad  to  see  you  here,  Mr.  Larkington  ; 
is  it  not  a  pretty  scene  ?  But  of  course,  after 
Co\ves,  it  seems  very  small  to  you.  Still,  I 
think  it  is  not  quite  unlike  the  grounds  of 
the  Royal  Yacht  Squadron ;  how  does  it 
strike  you  ? " 

"  I  think  that  the  Club  garden  never  had 
such  a  compliment  before,  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer; 
we  have  nothing  in  England  that  compares 
with  Newport.  It  is  really  a  sort  of  modern 
Pompeii,  where  all  the  rich  Americans  come 
to  play  at  taking  a  rest." 

"  It  is  very  good-natured  of  you  to  say  such 
nice  things,  I  am  sure.  I  want  to  present 
you  to  Miss  Carleton,  who  is  my  guest. 
Gladys,  let  me  present  the  Hon.  Mr.  Cuth- 
bert  Larkington,  of  Oxfordshire." 


16  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

The  two  young  people  bowed,  —  the  man 
lifting  his  hat  and  making  a  deep  obeisance, 
the  girl  moving  her  graceful  head  perhaps  a 
quarter  of  an  inch,  and  looking  with  an  air 
of  composed  observance  into  the  face  of  the 
dark,  striking-looking  stranger.  Whether  he 
chose  to  admit  it  to  Mrs.  Craig  or  not,  Lark- 
ington  was  much  impressed  with  the  beauty 
of  Gladys  Carleton.  He  instinctively  com 
pared  her  to  the  Arab  mare  which  had  borne 
him  many  miles  over  the  deserts  of  Syria, 
and  which  he  had  cared  for  rather  more  than 
for  any  other  living  creature. 

She  was  tall,  straight  as  an  arrow,  and 
slender,  long-limbed,  with  a  small,  round 
waist,  wide  shoulders,  and  full,  classic  bust, 
carefully  displayed  by  the  close-fitting  dress 
of  dark-blue  foulard,  fastened  at  the  throat 
with  a  pair  of  deep  sapphire  buttons.  Her 
head  was  magnificently  set  on  her  shoulders, 
and  its  poise  was,  to  quote  the  phrase  Lark- 
ington  had  used,  "  half  arrogant  and  wholly 
fetching."  The  head  itself  was  small,  and, 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  I/ 

if  not  intellectual,  intelligent  in  shape.  Her 
fine  black  hair  was  brushed  simply  back  from 
her  temples,  —  she  could  afford  to  show  her 
brow.  Her  eyes  were  dark  and  full  of  fire ; 
the  thick  line  of  the  eyebrows  not  classic,  but 
effective.  The  straight,  sensitive  nose,  with 
its  red  nostrils,  showed  what  her  friends 
called  her  "high  spirit;"  her  maid  vulgarly 
referred  to  it  as  a  mark  of  her  "  ugly  tem 
per."  Her  mouth  was  full  and  red,  curved 
and  dainty,  —  a  beauty  rarely  found  among 
the  women  of  her  race.  Her  tiny  roseleaf  ears 
had  never  been  desecrated  by  the  needle  of 
the  jeweller,  and  the  faultless  teeth  showed 
no  trace  of  a  dentist's  care.  A  singularly 
striking-looking  woman,  whose  age  might  be 
anywhere  from  eighteen  to  twenty-eight,  and 
was  exactly  a  quarter  of  a  century. 

When  Larkington  looked  at  the  smooth 
fleckless  skin,  he  thought  that  she  could  not 
have  passed  her  teens.  Her  assured  and  self- 
reliant  bearing  contradicted  this  supposition, 
and  betokened  much  experience  of  the  world. 


1 8  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

"  I  was  so  sorry  to  miss  you  at  dinner  last 
evening, —  I  was  dining  at  Mrs.  Belhomme's. 
Mrs.  Fallow-Deer  told  me  how  you  amused 
them  all,  and  has  promised  to  ask  you  again 
very  soon  for  my  special  benefit.  Do  you 
think  you  will  like  Newport  ?  " 

"  I  know  I  shall ;  in  fact,  I  do.  I  am  al 
most  at  home  here  already." 

"  You  will  feel  yourself  quite  at  home  this 
afternoon,  I  fancy,  for  it  is  the  first  hunt 
of  the  season.  Of  course  you  are  going  ?  " 

"  If  you  are,  Miss  Carleton,  I  am,  of 
course.  But  what  sort  of  a  hunt  is  it,  — 
a  butterfly  hunt  ?  Considering  the  season, 
I  suppose  the  game  must  have  golden 
wings." 

"  Butterflies  ?  Oh  no  !  we  are  not  canni 
bals  at  Newport,  and  do  not  kill  our  kind. 
The  hunt  is  a  real  hunt  as  far  as  the  prey  is 
concerned.  The  only  sham  part  of  it  is  the 
scent,  which  is  that  of  a  red  herring  dragged 
across  the  fields  by  a  huntsman  on  the 
morning  of  the  meet." 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  19 

"  So  the  route  is  all  laid  out  ?  and  how 
does  the  fox  —  it  is  a  fox  ?  —  well,  how  does 
he  understand  that  he  must  follow  the  scent 
of  the  herring  ?  Does  your  system  of  com 
pulsory  education  extend  to  the  members  of 
the  animal  kingdom  ?  " 

u  Do  not  be  satirical,  Mr.  Larkington.  Of 
course,  the  whole  thing  sounds  very  absurd 
to  you ;  but  as  we  have  no  foxes  in  this 
neighborhood,  we  import  the  poor  little 
beasts.  The  fox  is  conveyed  in  a  leathern 
bag  to  a  certain  spot  agreed  upon,  and  when 
we  have  all  begun  to  think  that  herring 
scent  is  a  poor  sort  of  game,  out  springs 
Mr.  Reynard  a  field  beyond,  and  we  all  take 
heart,  —  hounds,  horses,  and  riders,  —  and 
plunge  after  him  with  renewed  ardor.  If  the 
fox  part  of  it  is  a  sham,  I  can  say  more  for 
the  riding.  Newport  is  the  roughest  country 
I  have  ever  hunted  in.  Have  you  your  horse 
with  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  bought  a  couple  of  hunters  in 
New  York ;  they  arrived  yesterday,  and  I 


20  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

shall  most  certainly  join  the  hunt  this  after 
noon.  Do  the  men  wear  the  pink  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  most  of  them.  It  makes  the  spec 
tacle  so  much  gayer,  and  the  pink  coats  set 
off  the  dark  habits  very  prettily.  They  are 
not  always  becoming,  but  then  one  ought  to 
be  willing  to  sacrifice  one's  self  to  the  gen 
eral  picturesqueness  of  the  landscape." 

Catching  the  last  part  of  this  sentence, 
Mrs.  Fallow-Deer,  who  had  been  occupied  in 
scanning  with  half-closed  eyes  the  groups 
of  people  scattered  about  the  lawn,  broke 
into  the  conversation. 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  picturesque  scene,  is  it  not  ? 
But  I  want  to  present  you,  Mr.  Larkington, 
to  one  of  its  most  picturesque  objects,  Mrs. 
Belhomme.  I  am  going  to  take  you  to  a 
reception  at  her  house  this  evening.  I  '11  be 
back  again,  Gladys ;  keep  my  seat  for  me." 

And  the  great  woman  sailed  away  on  the 
arm  of  her  new  protege.  Poor  little  Mrs. 
Craig  grew  pale  as  the  couple  swept  past 
her.  Her  only  cavalier  for  the  moment  hap- 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  21 

pened  to  be  Mr.  Craig,  her  devoted  and  long- 
suffering  husband  ;  and  this  fact  added  gall 
to  the  wormwood  of  her  defeat.  She  was 
somewhat  soothed,  however,  by  the  approach 
of  Count  Clawski,  a  foreign  diplomate  with 
a  high  official  position.  This  gentleman,  af 
ter  the  formalities  of  the  morning  greeting, 
inquired  of  Mrs.  Craig  the  name  and  station 
of  the  tall  Englishman,  who  was  the  subject 
of  general  conversation  that  morning.  Mrs. 
Craig  assured  him  that  she  was  in  no  way 
responsible  for  the  gentleman,  whom  she  had 
met  at  dinner  the  evening  before  at  Mrs. 
Fallow-Deer's,  and  whom  she  had  accidentally 
encountered  at  the  entrance  of  the  Casino. 
Count  Clawski  had  lived  in  England,  and 
knew  of  an  aristocratic  family  of  the  name 
of  Larkington. 

Mrs.  Craig  now  being  quite  ready  to  leave 
the  Casino,  the  Count  escorted  her  to  her 
carriage,  and  made  his  most  respectful  obei 
sance  to  the  pretty  woman,  who  nodded  a 
flirtatious  farewell,  and,  saying  to  her  footman, 


22  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

"  Go  to  the  Redwood  Library,"  was  rolled 
away  in  her  luxurious  Victoria  to  that  vener 
able  and  stately  edifice. 

Entering  the  quaint  old  library,  Mrs.  Craig 
asked  the  custodian  for  a  book,  which  was 
quickly  brought  her,  and,  seating  herself  at 
a  table,  the  pretty  woman  soon  became  ab 
sorbed  in  the  perusal  of  that  volume  which 
in  importance  ranks  with  the  book  of  Com 
mon  Prayer  in  all  English  households.  Does 
not  the  British  Peerage  contain  between  its 
covers  the  Alpha  and  Omega  of  every  true 
Briton's  social  creed,  which  should  profess  a 
belief  in  the  Queen  and  Empress  of  all  the 
important  parts  of  the  earth  ;  a  belief  in  the 
House  of  Lords,  the  aristocracy  and  all  their 
friends ;  a  faith  and  reverence  for  all  the 
decrees  of  H.  R.  H.  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and 
his  set  ? 


A  NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  23 


CHAPTER  II. 

IT  was  a  perfect  Newport  afternoon.  The 
sun,  which  had  shone  brightly  all  the  morn 
ing,  had  drawn  a  veil  of  soft  gray  clouds 
before  his  face,  and  a  cool  west  wind  blew 
refreshingly  over  the  road,  whose  dust  had 
been  laid  by  a  shower  during  the  night. 

The  West  Road,  which  leads  from  the 
town  of  Newport  out  into  the  quiet  country, 
was  dotted  here  and  there  with  groups  of 
riders,  and  with  carnages  of  all  degrees,  from 
trotting-wagons  to  four-in-hand  coaches. 

All  the  vehicles  were  wending  their  way 
to  Southwick's  Grove,  the  spot  appointed  for 
that  afternoon's  meet. 

It  was  early  as  yet,  only  half-past  four 
o'clock,  and  the  road  was  not  crowded  by 
the  hurrying  late-comers. 


24  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

There  were  a  few  among  the  riders  and 
drivers  who  could  appreciate  the  views  which 
are  to  be  had  from  different  points  on  the 
road. 

At  the  bend  which  marks  the  boundary 
between  the  townships  of  Newport  and  Mid- 
dletown,  two  riders  had  drawn  rein,  and 
were  looking  out  over  the  stretches  of  warm- 
hued  meadow-land  which  lie  between  the 
high-road  and  the  waters  of  the  bay. 

The  bold  outline  of  the  hill  on  the  right, 
and  the  group  of  dark  green  trees  on  the  left 
of  the  riders,  made  a  frame  for  the  great  life- 
picture  of  sea,  sky,  and  meadow,  at  which 
they  looked  half  understandingly. 

The  high  rocky  island  of  Conanicut,  with 
the  ruined  fort  of  the  Dumplings  on  its 
summit,  lay  before  them,  outlined  against 
pearly  gray  clouds,  the  sea  of  a  deeper  gray 
washing  softly  about  its  base.  A  swift- 
winged  boat,  with  a  flock  of  white  sea-gulls 
wheeling  about  its  bow,  came  skimming 
across  the  picture,  and  added  the  charm  of 
motion  to  the  scene. 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  25 

A  little  puff  of  smoke  floated  low  down 
beneath  the  clouds,  and  as  they  looked  the 
white  prow  of  a  steamer  parted  the  gray 
waves,  and  swiftly  crossed  the  line  of  their 
vision.  A  sudden  scream  of  a  steam  whistle 
fell  upon  the  quiet  air,  and  the  spell  was 
broken,  the  charm  of  the  picture  was  gone. 

Slowly,  regretfully,  the  eyes  of  the  young 
woman  in  the  trig  blue  habit  turned  from 
the  far-off  peaceful  scene,  broken  by  the  pro 
saic  sight  and  sound  of  the  steamer,  and, 
following  the  long  lines  of  brown  and  green 
meadow-land,  dwelt  a  moment  on  the  group 
of  men  and  boys  at  work  near  by,  and  then 
looked  into  the  face  of  her  companion. 

"  Is  it  not  beautiful,  Cid  ?  and  to  think 
that  I  have  ridden  past  this  spot  twenty 
times  this  summer,  and  never  noticed  the 
view !  You  are  never  too  busy  to  miss  one 
glimpse  of  the  beauty  which  you  say  the 
world  is  full  of,  and  /  have  to  be  told  that 
what  I  see  is  lovely  before  my  dulness  can 
understand  it.  All  the  lovely  things  I  have 
seen  in  my  life,  you  have  shown  me." 


26  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

The  eyes  of  the  speaker,  Gladys  Carleton, 
were  so  soft  at  that  moment  that  the  man 
by  her  side  wondered  if  the  hard,  bold  look, 
which  was  their  dominant  expression,  was 
not  one  acquired  by  habit  and  external  influ 
ences,  and  this  wistful,  half-tender  expression 
their  natural  one.  He  had  often  before  asked 
himself  this  question,  and  had  always  an 
swered  it  sadly  in  the  negative.  And  yet 
the  query  came  again  to  his  mind  on  that 
fair  summer  afternoon,  and  was  not  to  be 
dismissed  so  easily  as  it  had  been. 

Charles  Farwell,  called  by  Gladys  Carleton 
"  Cid,"  was  a  handsome  man  of  thirty,  with 
certain  traits  which  distinguished  him  from 
the  hundred  or  two  young  New  Yorkers  who 
were  at  that  time  infesting  Newport. 

He  was  of  the  pure  Saxon  type  some 
times  found  among  our  people,  with  golden 
hair  and  beard,  fair  skin,  and  eyes  of  that 
intense  blue  which  is  only  seen  with  people 
of  vigorous  temperament.  His  features  were 
almost  too  delicate  for  a  man,  but  his  six 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  27 

feet  of  height  and  broad  shoulders,  his  strong 
well-modelled  arms  and  legs,  saved  him  from 
the  charge  of  a  too  feminine  beauty. 

His  expression  was  open  and  simple,  and 
his  bearing  frank  and  natural.  There  was 
a  tendency  to  dreaminess  in  the  face,  con 
cerning  whose  beauty  he  honestly  neither 
thought  nor  cared.  His  cousin  Gladys  had 
told  him  that  a  beautiful  woman  who  was 
not  vain  was  a  rara  avis  indeed,  but  that  a 
handsome  man  without  vanity  was  a  crea 
ture  too  unnatural,  too  absolutely  sui  generis, 
to  be  popular  among  men  or  women. 

Charles  Farwell  and  Gladys  Carleton  were 
of  a  convenient  kinship,  being  second  cous 
ins.  A  second  cousin  may  always  be  that 
dimly  anticipated  "Fate"  which  haunts  the 
minds  of  all  young  people,  and  there  is  an 
easy  familiarity  in  the  relation,  which  may 
remain  but  a  pleasant  feature  in  their  lives, 
and  yet  can  easily  deepen  into  a  controlling 
association. 

These   two    young    people   had    lived    as 


28  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

children  on  opposite  sides  of  the  then  fash 
ionable  quarter  of  Gramercy  Park,  and  had 
played  together  in  the  dusty  city  garden 
through  the  long  days  when  from  Sunday 
to  Sunday  seemed  half  a  lifetime.  They 
had  fallen  in  love  of  course,  and  when 
Gladys  was  seventeen  and  Farwell  twenty- 
two,  there  had  been  an  "  understanding " 
between  them.  This  was  one  of  those 
"  understandings  "  into  which  American  girls 
are  apt  to  enter,  sometimes  with  more  than 
one  man  at  a  time,  in  which  the  maiden 
is  left  quite  free,  and  the  man  is  bound 
unconditionally. 

Gladys  did  not  know  her  own  mind,  — 
how  could  she,  not  having  seen  anything 
of  the  world  ?  She  thought  she  loved  her 
cousin,  and  was  sure  she  cared  more  for 
him  than  for  any  other  man,  —  but  she  could 
not  promise. 

Well,  he  would  wait  (they  always  do) ; 
and  after  waiting  for  three  years,  during 
which  time  he  had  the  doubtful  happiness 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  29 

of  corresponding  with  his  lovely  cousin,  of 
sending  her  flowers,  and  of  seeing  her  dance 
at  balls  with  other  men,  his  roses  held 
against  her  cheek  and  their  shoulders, — 
after  all  this  he  still  held  only  the  position 
of  her  acknowledged  admirer,  among  many 
others. 

She  would  drive  with  him  in  the  park, 
if  she  were  not  engaged  to  drive  with  any 
one  else  ;  when  she  had  an  off  evening,  she 
telegraphed  for  him  to  take  herself  and  her 
sister  to  the  play. 

In  the  early  summer  he  was  privileged 
to  spend  a  long  month  with  her  at  the  old 
homestead  in  Rhode  Island,  where  an  old 
relative,  the  Rev.  Abel  Carleton,  lived. 

In  this  quiet  spot  Gladys  recruited  her 
strength  for  the  Newport  season. 

Farwell  was  looked  upon  in  the  family  as 
the  hopeless  adorer  of  his  cousin.  Neither 
her  worldly  mother  nor  her  sisters  doubted  for 
a  moment  that  Gladys  would  make  a  great 
match ;  but  meanwhile  Cousin  Charlie  was  a 


30  A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

dear  good  fellow,  generous  with  his  three 
thousand  a  year,  honorable,  and  so  chival 
rous  that  Gladys  had  given  him  the  nick- 
name'of  Cid  in  the  days  in  which  he  had  read 
to  her  the  wonderful  stories  of  the  prowess 
of  the  fabled  hero.  Cid  he  had  always  been 
called  by  the  Carletons,  who  all  really  loved 
him,  when  they  had  time  to  think  about  it, 
and  he  stood  to  them  somewhat  in  the  rela 
tion  of  the  "  property  man  "  in  the  company 
of  a  theatre,  the  person  to  be  called  on  at  all 
times,  for  all  necessities. 

At  first  Farwell  had  been  sure  of  Gladys  ; 
after  she  had  seen  something  of  society  and 
had  "  had  her  fling,"  she  would  give  it  all  up, 
marry  him,  and  settle  down  somewhere  out 
of  town,  where  they  could  live  very  comfort 
ably  on  their  joint  income  (that  of  Gladys 
sufficed  for  her  wardrobe),  and  lead  the  happy, 
quiet  domestic  life  for  which  he  fancied  they 
were  both  suited. 

But  as  time  wore  on,  and  Gladys  grew 
colder  and  harder,  and  more  thoroughly  a 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  31 

woman  of  the  world,  hope  grew  faint,  and 
finally  on  her  twentieth  birthday  they  had 
taken  a  long  walk  together,  and  had  talked 
the  matter  out  The  understanding  was 
now  altered,  and  Farwell  realized  that  Gladys 
was  in  earnest  when  she  told  him  that  "for 
two  such  beggars,  with  nothing  a  year,  to 
speak  about  marriage  would  be  sheer  lunacy." 

He  had  taken  the  disappointment  very 
hard,  and  was  thankful  when  the  Carletons 
soon  after  decided  to  make  a  trip  to  Europe. 
It  was  easier  to  forget  it  all  with  her  far 
away  from  him. 

Gladys  had  been  "  a  great  success "  in 
England,  in  Paris,  in  Rome,  —  wherever  she 
went.  She  had  been  twice  engaged,  and  had 
just  missed  becoming  "  my  lady"  by  the  in- 
triguings  of  a  sister  of  the  young  Earl  who 
had  fallen  in  love  with  her.  The  other 
lover  whom  she  had  accepted  and  finally 
discarded  was  a  German  banker  of  enor 
mous  wealth  and  high  standing.  Neverthe 
less,  when  the  time  appointed  for  the  mar- 


32  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

riage  drew  near,  Gladys  had  been  seized 
with  a  horror  of  her  plighted  lover,  and 
taking  her  maid  with  her  had  fled  from 
Berlin  to  London,  leaving  her  mother  to 
settle  the  difficulty,  while  she  amused  the 
London  friend  to  whose  house  she  had  been 
welcomed  on  her  arrival,  with  mimicry  of 
ponderous  Herr  Goldzchink's  ponderous 
wooings. 

The  story  of  her  escapade  was  soon 
known,  and  she  became  the  belle  of  the 
London  season,  dined  at  Marlboro'  House, 
and  afterwards  received  more  invitations  than 
would  have  sufficed  three  American  belles. 

Six  months  before  the  opening  of  our 
story,  Mrs.  Carleton,  somewhat  discouraged, 
be  it  said,  by  her  want  of  success  in  the 
matrimonial  market,  had  found  it  necessary 
to  return  to  America  and  attend  to  some 
urgent  business  matters. 

Gladys  had  become  in  these  six  months 
quite  at  home  again  in  the  country  which 
she  had  not  seen  in  as  many  years,  and  after 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  33 

a  winter  in  New  York  had  passed  a  month 
at  the  old  homestead  as  in  other  days.  Hav 
ing  accepted  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer's  invitation 
to  pass  the  month  of  August  with  her  at 
Newport,  she  was  enjoying  for  the  first  time 
in  several  years  the  brilliant  entertainments  of 
our  summer  city.  She  found  that  things  had 
changed  much  during  her  absence,  and  felt,  as 
she  had  never  done  before,  the  great  difficulty 
which  people  with  moderate  means  find  in 
maintaining  their  place  in  a  society  which 
has  become  vulgarized  by  the  vast  quantities 
of  wealth  brought  into  it  by  uncultivated 
people. 

The  tone  of  the  society  seemed  also  to 
have  become  in  a  certain  sense  European- 
ized,  and  she  did  not  find  the  great  contrast 
she  had  expected ;  Newport  manners  and 
customs,  unlike  those  of  the  Medes  and 
Persians,  having  changed  considerably. 

"  I  find  people  here  much  broader  than  I 
remember  them  to  have  been,"  Gladys  had 
said  to  her  cousin. 

3 


34  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

"  Yes,"  Cid  had  rather  grimly  replied ; 
"you  will  find  people  here  just  as  broad 
as  you  will  allow  them  to  be,"  -  -  for  which 
remark  he  had  been  promptly  and  prop 
erly  snubbed. 

As  the  two  young  people  gave  their  horses 
the  rein,  a  carriage  rolled  by  them,  in  which 
were  seated  Mrs.  Craia^  and  Mrs.  Fallow- 

o 

Deer ;  the  latter  called  out  to  Gladys,  — 

"  You  are  late,  dear!  You  must  trot  along 
very  fast,  or  they  will  be  off  without  you." 

An  excellent  horsewoman  was  Gladys 
Carleton,  and  she  never  appeared  to  more 
advantage  than  when  in  the  saddle.  At 
Mrs.  Fallow-Deer's  warning,  she  touched 
her  tall  sorrel  lightly  with  her  crop,  and 
the  two  young  people  rode  off  at  a  sharp 
pace.  Arriving  at  the  rendezvous,  they 
found  a  large  group  of  riders,  twenty  or 
thirty  men,  and  half  as  many  women,  all 
well  mounted  and  well  got  up. 

Some  of  the  gentlemen  wore  pink  coats, 
others  were  in  plain  riding-dress.  The 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  35 

huntsmen  were  busy  with  the  hounds,  a 
fine  pack  imported  from  Buckinghamshire, 
and  the  hunters  were  talking  and  laughing 
together,  walking  their  horses  about,  or 
tightening  their  girths  for  the  long  run. 

In  the  large  open  space  of  the  grove  hun 
dreds  of  carriages,  filled  with  spectators,  were 
assembled,  and  more  were  arriving  every  mo 
ment.  The  horns  of  the  coaches  sounded 
merrily  in  the  distance,  and  presently  a  drag, 
driven  by  a  wounded  polo-player,  his  crutches 
conspicuously  displayed  beside  him,  rolled 
into  the  grove. 

On  this  coach  the  quick  eyes  of  Gladys 
Carleton  espied  her  English  acquaintance 
of  the  morning,  the  Hon.  Cuthbert  Lark- 
ington. 

Mr.  Larkington's  horse,  having  been  led 
out  by  a  groom,  was  awaiting  him.  He 
sprang  into  the  saddle  and  joined  the  group 
of  riders,  making  his  way  to  the  side  of 
Gladys,  by  whom  he  was  half-graciously 
received. 


36  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

She  never  was  quite  gracious  to  any  one. 
An  introduction  to  Farwell  followed,  and  as 
the  two  gentlemen  bowed,  the  horns  of  the 
huntsmen  warned  them  that  the  run  was 
about  to  begin. 

Off  went  the  hounds  across  the  road, 
scrambling  over  the  loose  stone-wall  which 
divided  it  from  the  field. 

They  ran  sniffing  and  crying  at  the  her 
ring  scent,  as  if  they  knew  all  about  the  im 
posture  practised  on  them,  and  resented  it. 

After  them  followed  the  riders,  men  and 
women.  The  wall  was  not  a  very  high  one, 
and  the  horses  leaped  lightly  over  it,  no  one 
coming  to  grief. 

The  carriages  by  this  time  were  all  tearing 
down  the  high-road,  which  was  also  lined 
with  a  number  of  riders,  who  followed  the 
hunt  from  this  safe  vantage-ground,  endan 
gering  nothing  but  their  eyesight,  which  the 
cloud  of  dust  threatened,  and  enjoying  the 
hunt  quite  as  much  as  its  followers,  —  so 
they  affirmed. 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  37 

Gladys  was  among  the  foremost  riders, 
and  Farwell  and  Larkington  pressed  their 
horses  to  keep  at  her  side. 

Away  they  galloped  across  stubble-fields 
and  open  meadows,  taking  a  five-barred  gate 
here,  and  a 'water  jump  there,  as  they  came. 
No  side  roads  or  opened  gates  for  Gladys ; 
she  loved  the  excitement  of  the  run  as  much 
as  did  her  sorrel,  Nimbus. 

He  was  a  splendid  beast,  strong,  power 
fully  built,  and  in  fine  condition. 

Before  they  had  ridden  three  miles  it 
became  apparent  to  both  of  the  cavaliers 
that  Gladys  had  the  best  mount,  and  it  was 
with  difficulty  that  the  two  men  kept  at 
her  side. 

She  spoke  to  Larkington  occasionally, 
but  oftener  to  her  horse,  which  she  encour 
aged  by  calling  his  name  constantly.  At 
last,  after  a  run  of  about  seven  miles,  during 
which  several  ugly  croppers  were  taken  by 
some  of  the  riders  and  horses,  a  little  puppy 
fox  was  seen  to  issue  from  the  leathern  bag 


38  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

in  which  he  had  been  confined,  a  field  ahead 
of  the  hunting  party. 

The  hounds  leaped  forward  at  a  quicker 
pace,  crying  at  the  sight  of  their  prey,  and 
the  men  and  women  spurred  their  horses 
on  for  the  last  field. 

Excited  exclamations  escaped  from  the 
men  as  they  lashed  their  tired  steeds,  and 
a  cry  of  "  Go  on,  Nimbus ! "  fell  on  Farwell's 
ear.  It  had  come  from  the  lips  of  Gladys ; 
and  as  he  looked  at  her,  he  wondered  where 
the  tender  expression  could  have  vanished 
which  had  stirred  his  heart  an  hour  ago. 

She  was  flushed,  and  her  eyes  sparkled 
with  excitement.  She  struck  her  horse  and 
urged  him  over  the  last  wall  as  a  jockey 
might  have  done,  and  with  the  cry  which 
he  had  heard,  and  which  had  no  sound  of 
her  natural  voice  in  it,  she  swept  across 
the  field  even  with  the  huntsmen,  and  lead 
ing  the  whole  cavalcade. 

And  the  fox?  well,  he  was  only  a  stupid 
little  creature  after  all,  and,  quite  dazed  by 


A  NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  39 

the  sudden  light,  by  the  cries  of  the  hounds, 
and  the  approach  of  all  these  men,  women, 
and  horses,  he  did  nothing  but  jump  up 
on  the  stone  wall  and  look  wonderingly  at 
the  superior  animals  who  had  come  so  far 
to  find  him. 

When  the  pack  were  close  upon  him  he 
realized  what  it  all  meant,  —  that  it  was  to 
take  his  miserable  little  life  that  all  these 
great  creatures  —  brave  men  and  delicate 
women,  hounds  and  horses  —  had  come  out 
on  this  bright  summer  afternoon. 

He  realized  it,  but  too  late  even  to  try 
for  an  escape.  He  looked  about  him  over 
a  strange  open  country  with  fields  on  either 
side,  and,  seeing  how  hopeless  it  was,  stood 
quite  still,  looking  at  the  animals,  guided  by 
their  king,  man,  who  were  now  close  upon 
him. 

One  great  cry  he  gave  as  he  felt  the 
teeth  of  the  foremost  hound  fasten  on  his 
throat,  and  then  all  was  over,  and  in  a 
space  of  time  something  less  than  sixty 


40  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

seconds,  the  Master  of  the  Hunt  approached 
Miss  Carleton  with  the  brush  of  the  fox, 
which  she  hung  at  the  pommel  of  her 
saddle. 

As  they  all  rode  home  together  through 
the  quiet  country  'lanes,  little  children  ran 
to  the  doors  of  the  farm-houses  and  looked 
admiringly  at  the  cavalcade. 

The  feathered  creatures,  just  preparing  to 
go  to  rest  in  the  arms  of  the  great  trees, 
flapped  their  wings  angrily  at  the  dust  and 
disturbance  created  on  the  highway,  which 
after  six  o'clock  was  deserted  save  on  the 
days  of  the  hunt. 

An  apple  orchard  on  the  right  side  of 
the  road  lay  between  the  riders  and  the 
setting  sun. 

The  light  falling  in  low,  slanting  rays 
between  the  shadows  of  the  wonderful  old 
gnarled  trees,  gray  and  twisted,  gave  a  color 
to  the  grass  which  is  found  nowhere  in 
the  world  save  in  the  island  of  Rhode 
Island,  —  a  color  as  of  a  million  emeralds 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  41 

softened  and  deepened  by  the  yellow  light 
of  the  setting  sun. 

"If  I  were  obliged  to  say  what  was  the 
most  beautiful  thing  in  all  Newport,  I 
should  say  the  turf  of  this  orchard,  in  the 
afternoon." 

Gladys  was  the  speaker. 

"  And  you  say  that  you  never  see  any 
thing  that  is  beautiful,"  Farwell  remarked. 

"  I  should  n't  have  seen  it  if  I  had  not 
been  with  you,  Cid." 

As  they  rode  down  Bellevue  Avenue  to 
Mrs.  Fallow-Deer's  house,  which  was  situated 
on  the  cliffs,  Larkington  made  himself  very 
agreeable  to  Farwell,  who  received  the  ad 
vances  of  the  Englishman  cordially. 

The  two  gentlemen  then  took  leave  of 
Miss  Carleton,  Farwell  lifting  her  from  her 
horse  in  a  matter-of-course  manner. 

At  the  moment  in  which  her  palm  lay 
upon  his  shoulder,  and  his  hands  spanned 
her  slender  waist,  she  gave  a  little  tired  sigh, 
almost  like  a  child's.  She  smiled  with  her 


42  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

eyes  as  well  as  her  lips  in  that  brief  instant 
when  her  face  was  so  near  to  his,  and  though 
she  gave  her  hand  to  Larkington  at  parting, 
and  only  nodded  him  a  good-night,  Cid  rode 
away  with  his  heart  beating  fast,  his  whole 
being  quickened  by  the  influence  of  that 
tired  sigh,  that  deep  smile. 

Farwell  felt  so  much  at  peace  with  the 
world  in  general,  and  in  especial  with  the 
man  who  had  not  lifted  Gladys  from  her 
horse,  that  in  a  moment  of  expansiveness 
he  asked  Larkington  to  dine  with  him  at 
the  restaurant  of  the  Casino. 

The  invitation  was  accepted,  and  the  two 
men  passed  the  evening  together,  playing 
a  game  of  billiards  after  dinner. 

Farwell  was  rightly  counted  by  the  men 
of  his  club  as  an  excellent  player,  but  he 
found  that  in  Larkington  he  had  met  more 
than  his  match.  Though  Larkington  had 
taken  twice  as  much  wine  as  he  had  at 
dinner,  his  strokes  seemed  as  steady  as 
those  of  a  professional  billiard-player. 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  43 

The  stranger's  game  was  so  remarkable 
that  quite  a  group  of  men  collected  round 
the  table  to  watch  it.  After  a  few  games  in 
which  he  was  rather  badly  beaten,  Farwell 
remembered  an  engagement,  and  excusing 
himself  left  his  new  friend  the  centre  of  an 
admiring  group,  and  walked  off  to  his  lodg 
ings  over  the  baker's  shop  in  John  Street. 

They  were  comfortable  rooms  enough, 
the  little  bedroom  and  parlor  which  he  had 
hired  for  the  months  of  August  and  Septem 
ber,  and  he  threw  himself  into  the  black 
horsehair  rocking-chair,  which  his  landlady 
had  lent  him  from  her  own  sitting-room, 
and  lighting  his  pipe  divested  himself  of  his 
coat  and  boots, — a  thing  which  every  true- 
born  American  does  immediately  on  entering 
the  privacy  of  his  own  apartment. 

Something  besides  the  smile  of  Gladys  had 
occurred  to  please  Charles  Farwell.  Loving 
her  as  he  had  all  his  life,  and  understanding 
her  as  thoroughly  as  he  did,  her  kindness  and 
her  unkindness  usually  depressed  him  equally, 


44  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

when  the  charm  of  her  presence  was  re 
moved. 

If  she  was,  as  she  had  been  that  day, 
almost  tender  to  him,  the  old  conviction, 
always  latent  in  his  mind,  that  she  really 
loved  him,  would  assert  itself,  and  the  feel 
ing  that  if  he  chose  to  exert  his  will,  he  could 
induce  her  to  marry  him,  would  grow  into  a 
certainty. 

But  with  this  certainty  came  also  the  re 
membrance  of  the  great,  insuperable  objec 
tion  to  such  a  step,  —  that  of  his  limited 
income,  which  to  her  meant  poverty. 

He  knew  that  to  her  luxurious  nature 
any  enforced  economy  would  be  irksome, 
perhaps  intolerable,  and  feared  lest  it  might 
imbitter  her  character,  whose  selfish  impulses 
he  knew  so  well. 

He  would  not  now,  with  his  knowledge  of 
the  world  and  its  men  and  women,  beg  her 
to  renounce  it  all,  for  love  and  for  him. 

That  he  himself  was  generous  to  a  fault, 
giving  away  his  money  whenever  he  had  any 


A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  45 

to  give,  and  working  year  in  and  year  out  in 
a  broker's  office  in  Wall  Street  in  order  that 
his  sisters  might  have  his  share  of  the  in 
come  from  his  father's  estate,  made  him 
none  the  less  aware  of  the  selfish  side  of 
Gladys's  nature. 

He  could  make  her  marry  him,  —  of  that 
he  was  sure  now,  —  but  could  he  make  her 
happy?  As  if  to  answer  the  self-asked  ques 
tion  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  crumpled  bit 
of  paper,  and  read  for  the  third  time  a  de 
spatch  which  he  had  that  afternoon  received, 
and  which  ran  as  follows  :  — 

LEADVILLE,  Aug.  19,  1882. 
To  CHARLES  FARWELL, 

Redwood  Reading  Room, 
Newport,  R.I. 

New  lead  discovered  ;  assay  yields  20  per  cent 
of  silver.  Come  at  once. 

CARTWRIGHT. 


46  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 


CHAPTER    III. 

ON  the  morning  following  the  fox-hunt, 
Mr.  Larkington,  inquiring  at  the  post-office 
for  letters,  was  somewhat  surprised  at  the 
large  bundle  of  notes  which  the  clerk  put  into 
his  hand. 

He  glanced  hurriedly  over  the  addresses : 
there  was  one  foreign  letter,  with  an  English 
postmark,  directed  in  a  pointed  feminine 
hand. 

This  letter  he  impatiently  tore  open,  un 
folding  it  without  glancing  at  the  writing, 
and  looked  between  the  closely  written  pages 
of  the  sheet. 

Here  he  found  a  narrow  slip  of  paper, 
which  the  lady  clerk  observed  afterwards  to 
the  postmaster  "  was  a  check,  as  any  one 
could  see." 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  47 

Whether  this  lady  was  right  in  her  hy 
pothesis  or  not,  the  perusal  of  the  narrow 
bit  of  paper  seemed  to  have  an  agreeable 
effect  upon  Mr.  Larkington.  His  face,  which 
until  then  had  been  rather  moody,  cleared, 
and,  folding  the  paper,  he  placed  it  carefully 
in  his  pocket-book,  thrust  the  unread  letter 
which  had  been  so  carefully  written,  into 
his  pocket,  and  proceeded  to  open  leisurely 
the  other  notes. 

All  of  these  bore  the  local  postmark. 

The  first  one  was  marked  by  an  elaborate 
crest,  in  blue  and  gold,  and  read  as  follows : 
"  Mrs.  Craig  requests  the  pleasure  of  Mr. 
Larkington's  company  at  dinner  on  Monday 
evening  next,  at  half-past  seven." 

Another  informed  him  that  "  Mrs.  Fallow- 
Deer  hopes  that  Mr.  Larkington  will  drive 
with  her  on  Saturday  afternoon." 

A  third  read :  "  Mr.  Belhomme  will  be 
very  glad  to  lend  Mr.  Larkington  his  coach 
and  horses  on  Friday  and  Saturday  of  this 
week,  during  his  absence  in  New  York." 


48  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

There  were  half  a  dozen  other  invitations 
to  balls  and  routs  of  various  kinds,  and,  most 
important  of  all  to  the  mind  of  the  English 
man,  invitations  for  a  month  to  the  Redwood 
and  Casino  Clubs.  To  the  first  of  these, 
incorrectly  called  the  "  Reading  Room," 
Larkington  immediately  repaired. 

Here  he  was  warmly  greeted  by  the  men 
whose  acquaintance  he  had  made  on  the  pre 
vious  day  and  evening.  These  gentlemen 
introduced  him  to  others. 

Cuthbert  Larkington  had  come  to  New 
port,  forty-eight  hours  before,  a  stranger,  with 
no  further  claim  on  society  than  that  implied 
by  a  single  letter  of  introduction. 

This  letter,  which  was  addressed  to  Mrs. 
Fallow-Deer,  had  been  given  him  by  a 
steamer  acquaintance,  to  whom  he  had  lent 
twenty-five  pounds.  He  now  felt  that  he 
had  gained  a  footing  from  which  he  could 
climb  to  the  heights  of  success  and  popu 
larity. 

As  he  was  leaving  the  Club,  Larkington 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  49 

met  Count  Clawski,  and  the  two  walked  down 
Bellevue  Avenue  together. 

A  carriage,  drawn  by  a  pair  of  magnificent 
bay  horses,  rattled  past  them,  the  harnesses 
jingling  with  enough  chains  to  secure  all  the 
prisoners  in  Newport  jail. 

Two  ladies  bowed  from  the  back  seat  of 
the  carnage,  and  Larkington,  recognizing  the 
face  of  the  girl  whose  acquaintance  he  had 
made  the  day  before,  made  a  deep  obeisance ; 
Count  Clawski,  who  seemed  on  good  terms 
with  the  ladies,  waved  his  hat  with  airy  grace. 

"  You  have  the  good  fortune  to  know  Miss 
Carleton,  the  heiress  ?  "  asked  the  Count. 

"  Yes  ;  I  met  her  yesterday.  Is  she  one  of 
the  very  rich  people  here?" 

"  Oh  yes ;  her  fortune  is  counted  in  mil 
lions, —  half  a  dozen,  I  believe,  and  it  is  all 
in  her  own  right.  An  interesting  woman, 
very.  Her  cousin  is  very  pretty,  is  she 
not?" 

"  I  did  not  notice  the  cousin,"  answered 
Larkington,  absently.  "Is  she  an  orphan, 

4 


50  A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

—  Miss  Carleton,  —  that  she  is  so  rich  ? 
From  whom  did  she  get  all  her  money? " 

"  Oh,  old  Mr.  Carleton  was  an  enormously 
rich  man,  and  she  is  his  only  child.  She  is 
an  excellent  woman  of  business,  and  man 
ages  her  own  affairs  entirely.  She  has  a 
mother;  but  Mrs.  Carleton  is  not  here  this 
summer.  She  is  an  old  lady,  and  finds  New 
port  too  exciting  for  her  taste." 

This  is  what  was  said  on  the  sidewalk. 

The  lady  in  the  carriage  who  was  the  sub 
ject  of  this  conversation  said  to  her  com 
panion, — 

"  Do  you  know  who  that  man  with  Count 
Clawski  is,  Gladys  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  Cousin  Amelia ;  I  can  tell  you 
all  about  him.  His  name  is  Larkington,  — 
the  Hon.  Cuthbert  Larkington.  He  is  an 
Englishman,  of  high  family.  Mrs.  Craig  was 
telling  us  all  about  him  this  morning.  She 
had  been  looking  him  up  in  the  Peerage. 
He  is  the  son  of  Lord  Lucre,  and  is  in  the 
Army.  I  met  him  yesterday,  and  found  him 


A  NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  51 

quite  agreeable.  You  ought  to  have  him 
presented,  and  ask  him  to  dinner." 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  know  him,  but  I  am 
off  for  Lenox  to-morrow.  Would  n't  you 
like  to  have  Thomas  come  for  you  while  I 
am  away?  You  can  have  the  carriage  every 
afternoon,  just  as  well  as  not.  Mrs.  Fallow- 
Deer,  with  her  numerous  engagements,  must 
have  constant  use  for  hers." 

Miss  Amelia  Carleton  was  the  cousin  of 
Gladys,  and  Count  Clawski  had  not  exagger 
ated  her  fortune  to  Larkington. 

She  was  a  rather  hard-favored  iron-bound 
virgin  of  some  forty  odd  years,  well  preserved 
and  not  the  reverse  of  handsome  in  face  or 
figure.  She  had  remained  Miss  Carleton 
from  choice,  preferring  the  freedom  of  single 
life  and  enjoying  the  power  which  her  money 
gave  her.  She  could  have  married  "  any 
body  she  pleased,"  as  the  phrase  goes,  but 
she  did  not  please,  and  said  she  did  not  care 
to  support  any  man  for  the  pleasure  of  writ 
ing  Mrs.  before  her  name. 


52  A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

"  There  was,  of  course,  some  old  romance," 
her  friends  all  said,  but  who  the  hero  of  it 
was,  even  rumor  whispered  not. 

It  is  quite  possible  that  neither  hero  nor 
romance  had  ever  entered  her  life. 

She  belonged  to  that  type  of  women,  not 
uncommon  in  New  England,  who  do  not  feel 
the  necessity  of  domestic  relations  for  their 
happiness,  and  to  whom  men  are  rather  an 
tagonistic  than  attractive. 

These  women  are  often  among  the  hardest 
workers  in  the  social  community,  and  are  un 
remitting  in  their  charitable  labors.  They 
are  dubbed  "  strong-minded,"  —  a  title  which 
they  resent  almost  universally,  and  yet  it  is 
one  they  fully  deserve. 

It  seems  as  though  a  wise  provision  of 
Providence  had  created  a  certain  proportion 
of  the  women  of  the  Eastern  States  with 
this  independence  of  nature,  to  fit  them  for 
the  life  of  moral  and  physical  self-support 
imposed  upon  them  by  the  disproportion 
ately  small  number  of  men  in  these  regions. 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  53 

On  reaching  his  hotel,  Larkington  walked 
slowly  up  the  long  stairs  which  led  to  the 
third  floor,  upon  which  his  room  was  sit 
uated. 

He  seemed  deeply  absorbed  in  thought, 
and  stood  before  the  window,  looking  with 
unseeing  eyes  into  the  blue  sky.  Yet  the 
tenor  of  his  thoughts  was  of  a  nature  more 
terrestrial  than  celestial,  as  the  anxious  ex 
pression  of  the  eyes  and  lips  betokened. 

"  Shall  I,  or  shall  I  not,  go  in  for  the 
heiress  ?  "  was  the  question  he  asked  himself, 
as  he  paced  slowly  up  and  down  the  narrow 
coffin-like  apartment,  with  its  iron  bedstead, 
chair,  table,  and  wash-stand,  for  the  use  of 
which  he  would  be  obliged  to  pay  five  dol 
lars  a  day,  when  he  should  settle  his  bill. 
When  he  should  settle  his  bill !  The  thought 
reminded  him  of  his  unread  letter,  and  seat 
ing  himself  at  the  table  he  soon  became  ab 
sorbed  in  the  perusal  of  the  finely  crossed 
epistle. 

After   reading    it    through,    he    sat    silent 


54  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

for  another  space,  staring  out  into  the  bright 
sunlight  of  the  summer  morning,  and  then 
quite  suddenly  drew  toward  him  the  pen 
and  ink  and  paper,  and  rapidly  indited  the 
following  note :  — 

DEAREST  Muz,  —  Thank  you  so  much  for  the 
enclosure  of  one  hundred  pounds,  and  your  kind 
letter,  both  this  morning  received.  It  is  the  last 
penny  I  '11  ever  ask  you  to  send  me,  I  swear  that 
to  you.  I  was  pretty  well  cleaned  out  when  it 
came,  and  never  was  gladder  in  my  life  to  see 
your  writing.  Tell  Sissy  that  I  am  going  to  make 
a  dash  for  a  fortune  here.  There's  a  pretty  girl 
attached  to  it,  to  whom  I  can  easily  become  at 
tached.  Failing  this,  I  shall  start  for  Mexico,  and 
strike  out  for  myself.  I  suppose  Dad  does  n't  sus 
pect  where  I  am  ;  don't  let  him  know.  Does  n't 
he  wonder  who  your  feminine  correspondent  is  ? 
Love  to  Sissy  and  your  dear  old  self. 

From  your  ever  affectionate 

CUTHBERT. 

The  letter  was  written  in  a  small  but  bold 
hand.  He  directed  the  envelope  in  a  large 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  55 

pointed  ladylike  chirography.     It  bore  this 
superscription :  — 

To  MRS.  MARTIN  LARKINGTON, 

Care  LARKINGTON  &  Co., 

No.  7  Washleathcr  St., 
Strand,  London. 

Now,  if  Mrs.  Craig  or  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer 
had  happened  to  see  this  letter  which  their 
new  acquaintance  had  just  written  to  his 
mother,  they  would  have  been  somewhat  sur 
prised  at  the  business  address  which  it  bore. 
They  would  have  looked  for  the  following 
aristocratic  superscription :  — 

LADY  LARKINGTON  LUCRE, 
Larkington  House, 

Larkington,  Oxfordshire. 

Having  performed  this  filial  duty,  Lark 
ington  proceeded  to  look  over  the  notes 
which  he  had  so  hurriedly  read  at  the  Post- 
Office.  One  there  was  which  he  had  passed 
over,  and  on  opening  it  he  gave  an  exclama 
tion  of  pleasure.  The  note  was  from  Charles 


56  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

Farwell,  who  offered  Mr.  Larkington  the  use 
of  his  two  polo  ponies  during  his  absence, 
which  would  last  for  about  two  weeks,  and 
telling  him  that  a  match  was  to  take  place 
that  very  afternoon,  in  which  Farwell  had  ar 
ranged  for  Larkington  to  take  his  place. 

If  there  was  one  pursuit  which  the  Eng 
lishman  cared  for,  more  than  any  other 
in  the  world,  it  was  certainly  the  game  of 
polo. 

Larkington  was  a  tall  athletic  fellow,  light 
of  body  and  sinewy  of  limb.  His  arms  and 
legs  were  long,  and  he  had  that  grace  of 
movement  which  comes  only  from  a  con 
dition  of  perfect  physical  health  and  muscu 
lar  development.  Nimrod  was  his  hero  and 
his  god.  From  hunting  and  athletic  pur 
suits  and  sports  he  derived  the  greatest  en 
joyment  of  his  life. 

He  was  withal  not  lacking  in  other  attain 
ments  which  made  him  an  agreeable  man 
in  a  drawing-room,  as  well  as  a  prominent 
one  in  the  field.  He  had  a  gift  for  music 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  57 

which,  although  uncultivated,  was  all  the 
more  remarkable.  He  could  play  any  air 
that  he  had  ever  heardv  with  an  abandon 
and  spirit  which  to  unmusical  people  were 
more  captivating  than  the  careful  perform 
ance  of  a  finished  musician.  He  could  talk 
of  English  politics  with  a  certain  knowledge 
of  facts,  but  with  an  indifference  to  princi 
ples  which  proved  that  he  was  not  guided 
by  them. 

He  was  fairly  well  educated,  had  been  at 
a  good  public  school,  but  had  not  passed 
through  a  university. 

He  knew  quite  as  much  of  Paris,  Vienna, 
and  Rome,  as  of  London,  and  seemed  even 
rather  more  at  home  in  the  society  of  these 
European  capitals  than  in  that  of  London, 
judging  from  his  conversation  concerning 
them.  He  spoke  —  astonishing  fact  for 
an  Englishman  !  —  excellent  French,  good 
German,  and  could  make  himself  understood 
in  the  other  languages  of  Europe.  His  ideas 
about  art  were  absolutely  without  value. 


58  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

Indeed,  it  should  rather  be  said  that  he 
had  none,  being  entirely  wanting  in  artistic 
sense. 

With  all  that  belonged  to  nature  he  was 
in  perfect  sympathy,  and  his  advice  about 
the  care  of  horses  or  cattle,  and  his  com 
ments  on  vegetables  and  fruit  and  the  best 
manner  of  raising  them,  were  well  worth 
hearing. 

Children  liked  him  and  came  to  him,  as 
did  dogs  and  all  other  uncivilized  beings,  but 
with  women  he  was,  strangely  enough,  not 
popular.  He  got  on  much  better  with  men, 
and  had  had  little  to  do  with  women.  Of 
love  in  its  higher  form  he  knew  nothing. 

Five  o'clock  was  the  time  appointed  for 
polo,  and  at  ten  minutes  past  the  hour, 
Larkington  entered  the  grounds  of  the  West- 
chester  Polo  Club,  and  rode  down  to  the 
small  pavilion  tent,  from  the  top  of  which 
floated  a  white  flag.  His  faithful  servant 
Stirrups,  who  was  by  turns  his  valet,  groom, 
and  companion,  stood  waiting  him  with 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  59 

Charles  Farwell's  ponies.  They  were  two 
sturdy  little  mustangs,  with  short  cropped 
manes,  and  legs  bandaged  to  the  body  for 
protection  against  the  blows  of  the  mallets. 

One  of  his  side  told  him  that  the  match 
would  not  begin  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and 
Larkington  took  this  opportunity  of  examin 
ing  the  ground  which  was  soon  to  be  turned 
into  a  battle-field.  He  had  played  polo  in 
England  and  in  Nice,  but  he  affirmed  to  the 
men  in  the  tent  "  that  this  ground  beat  all 
the  others  he  had  ever  seen,  hollow." 

The  large  space  of  turf,  which  was  out 
lined  by  strips  of  whitewash,  marking  the 
boundaries  of  the  polo  ground,  was  emerald 


green. 


Outside  of  these  lines  was  a  wide  drive 
way,  with  room  enough  for  three  or  four 
carriages  to  stand  abreast.  A  high  fence 
surrounded  the  driveway,  which  was  on  this 
afternoon  filled  with  carriages  of  every  de 
scription. 

The  north  side  was  reserved  for  the  coaches, 


60  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

of  which  a  dozen  were  assembled,  covered 
with  maids  and  matrons,  in  rainbow-hued 
gowns  and  smart  coaching-hats. 

Equestrians  were  there,  too,  and  a  group  of 
people  standing  and  sitting  in  the  corner, 
where  stood  a  covered  platform  filled  with 
chairs. 

The  horses  and  their  trappings  were  mag 
nificent,  and  the  sloping  beams  of  light  thrown 
by  the  afternoon  sun  revealed  a  spectacle  of 
glittering  wealth  and  display  which  is  not 
surpassed  in  any  city  of  the  world. 

So  thought  Larking  ton,  and  so  said  Lark- 
ington,  with  that  British  frankness  which,  if 
it  brusquely  sneers  at  times  at  American  man 
ners  and  solecisms,  quite  as  freely  and  mag 
nanimously  praises,  on  occasion. 

"  There  comes  the  coach  with  the  Presi 
dent,"  said  one  of  the  bachelors  from  the 
tent ;  "  the  game  will  be  called  in  five  min 
utes.  Are  you  ready,  Larkington  ? "  The 
Englishman  for  answer  threw  off  his  cover 
coat,  and,  standing  revealed  in  his  white  jer- 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  6 1 

sey,  boots,  and  breeches,  proceeded  to  tie 
about  his  head  a  white  silk  kuffia,  adjusting 
it  with  a  twisted  cord,  and  fastening  the  ends 
at  the  back  of  his  head,  after  the  fashion  of 
the  Bedouins  of  Syria.  The  match  on  this 
particular  afternoon  was  between  the  bach 
elors  and  married  men  of  the  club ;  and  as 
Charles  Farwell  was  to  have  played  in  it, 
he  had  arranged  for  Larkington  to  take  his 
place. 

Mrs.  Fallow-Deer  had  bested  him  to  do 

oO 

something  for  the  Englishman,  and  this  had 
been  the  easiest  thing  to  do. 

A  prize  cup  had  been  offered  by  the  ladies 
of  Newport,  and  the  match  was  undoubtedly 
the  most  important  one  of  the  season. 

"Just  like  my  luck  to  be  in  for  this 
game,"  Larkington  had  said  to  Stirrups  that 
morning. 

The  signal  to  ride  into  the  field  was  now 
given,  and  the  six  bachelors,  chastely  and  ap 
propriately  attired  in  white,  rode  into  place  at 
their  end  of  the  ground.  Ranged  side  by  side, 


62  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

with  raised  mallets,  they  sat  waiting,  their 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  red  flag  in  the  umpire's 
hand. 

Their  adversaries,  six  married  men,  at  the 
opposite  end  of  the  field,  were  well  able  to 
cope  with  them,  if  one  might  judge  from  their 
appearance  and  that  of  their  ponies.  The 
figures  of  these  men  were  fine  and  athletic ; 
their  costume  was  of  dark  blue  and  yellow 
stripes. 

"Are  you  ready?  One,  two,  three,  go!" 
said  the  umpire  ;  the  red  flag  was  dropped 
and  the  ball  thrown  into  the  middle  of  the 
ground. 

Flash  !  crash  !  went  the  twelve  ponies  and 
their  twelve  riders,  dashing  toward  each  other 
at  lightning  speed,  each  and  every  one  deter 
mined  to  have  the  first  blow  at  the  little  white 
wooden  ball,  which  lay  peacefully  on  the 
grass. 

It  was  a  grand  stroke,  the  first  one,  dealt  by 
the  mallet  of  a  white  player,  who  to  most  of 
the  spectators  was  a  stranger. 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  63 

The  ball  was  driven  straight  and  clear  to 
ward  the  goal,  and  the  blues  had  hard  work 
in  getting  it  back  again.  It  was  a  hard- 
fought  game,  however,  and  both  sides  played 
well  and  pluckily;  but  the  married  men  and 
their  backers,  who  had  been  hopeful  of  suc 
cess  since  it  had  been  learned  that  Farwell, 
by  long  odds  the  best  player  of  the  club, 
was  not  in  the  field,  began  to  be  rather  de 
spondent. 

Finally,  after  ten  minutes'  sharp  contest,  a 
splendid  stroke  from  Larkington  put  the  ball 
out  between  the  two  upright  wands  which 
marked  the  adversaries'  goal,  and  the  first 
game  was  scored  by  the  bachelors. 

Five  games  were  played,  three  being  won 
by  the  white  players,  and  the  Benedicts  being 
defeated  by  one  game. 

At  the  close  of  the  match  Larkington  was 
congratulated  on  his  playing  by  his  allies  and 
adversaries  alike,  and  he  felt  that  the  polo 
match  had  raised  him  another  step  in  the 
seemingly  easy  ladder  of  American  society. 


64  A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

Larkington  called  that  evening  at  Mrs. 
Fallow-Deer's,  and  found  the  ladies  at 
home. 

Count  Clawski,  who  had  been  dining  en 
famille  with  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer,  obligingly  de 
voted  himself  to  her,  and  Larkington  was 
left  free  to  talk  to  Miss  Carleton. 

He  was  in  high  spirits.  The  splendid 
exercise  of  the  afternoon  had  set  his  blood 
aglow,  and  a  convivial  dinner  with  the  bach 
elors,  which  had  followed  at  the  house  of 
their  captain,  had  not  decreased  his  pleas 
urable  condition  of  mind  and  body.  Miss 
Carleton  was  as  charming  a  person  to  talk 
to,  to  listen  to,  to  look  at,  as  Larkington  had 
ever  met. 

She  was  sitting  —  the  attitude  would  be 
better  described  as  reclining  —  in  a  low  arm 
chair  ;  her  strong  and  svelte  young  figure 
took  a  natural  and  thoroughly  graceful  pose, 
and  the  folds  of  her  white  dress  fell  about  its 
outlines,  revealing  them,  but  not  too  dis 
tinctly  for  maidenliness. 


A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  65 

Her  dress,  which  was  of  some  thick  and 
soft  material,  was  close  at  the  neck  and 
wrists.  She  had  the  shoulders  and  arms  of 
a  goddess,  but  she  never  showed  them.  It 
was  one  of  the  few  bits  of  sentiment  which 
her  mother  had  never  laughed  her  out  of. 

In  the  old  days,  when  she  and  Cid  had 
had  the  one-sided  understanding,  he  had 
begged  her  to  keep  those  beauties  from  the 
eyes  of  the  world. 

"  It  is  enough  that  they  can  see  your  face," 
he  said  jealously ;  he  would  almost  have 
liked  her  to  wear  a  yashmack,  and  keep  that 
face  for  his  eyes  alone. 

She  had  promised  him  in  a  weak  moment 
never  to  wear  the  undress  of  ball  dress,  and 
she  had  kept  her  word. 

Larkington  was  really  pleased  with  the 
beauty  and  grace  of  the  girl,  and,  as  he  had 
written  to  his  mother,  he  thought  it  would 
be  an  easy  as  well  as  pleasant  thing  to 
become  attached  to  her. 

He  was  not  much  used  to  making  love  to 


66  A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

ladies,  and  was  not  very  sure  of  himself,  but 
he  did  his  best,  and  found  that  his  pretty 
speeches  were  graciously,  if  cynically,  lis 
tened  to. 

She  puzzled  him,  this  beauty,  whose  eyes 
did  not  droop,  nor  color  change,  under  the 
ardent  look  of  admiration  which  he  fixed 
upon  her. 

She  was  thoroughly  mistress  of  the  situa 
tion,  and  when,  after  a  too  flagrant  compli 
ment,  she  turned  upon  him  and  with  good- 
natured  satire  analyzed  and  caricatured  all 
his  speeches,  cutting  them  to  pieces,  he  was 
forced  to  laugh  at  her  wit,  though  it  had 
been  at  his  own  expense. 

She  liked  his  flattery,  as  he  plainly  saw, 
though  it  did  not  deceive  her. 

And  when  he  asked  if  he  might  come  to 
morrow  and  coach  her  a  little  in  her  serving 
at  tennis,  which  had  seemed  to  him  faulty 
that  day  at  the  Casino,  she  consented,  and 
appointed  the  hour  of  twelve  for  the  lesson. 

"  You  will  stay  and  lunch  with  us  after  the 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  67 

game,  Mr.  Larkington  ? "  said  Mrs.  Fallow- 
Deer,  hospitably. 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure,  madam,"  an 
swered  the  Englishman. 

He  took  his  leave.  Both  ladies  shook 
hands  with  him  in  saying  good-night,  —  Mrs. 
Fallow-Deer  with  the  real  cordiality  which 
underlay  all  the  superficial  artificiality  of  her 
manner ;  and  Gladys  laid  a  smooth  white 
hand  for  an  instant  in  his  own. 

Under  similar  circumstances  he  would 
have  been  apt  to  press  the  hand  of  a  woman 
he  so  much  admired,  and  whose  manner  with 
him  had  been  so  easy.  He  was  in  a  state  of 
unusual  exhilaration,  and  even  felt  himself  to 
be  a  little  in  love. 

Something,  however,  in  the  young  girl's 
eyes  made  him  touch  her  hand  as  coolly  and 
lightly  as  if  she  had  been  old  and  ugly 
instead  of  young  and  very  beautiful. 

There  was  a  spirit  of  good-fellowship  about 
her  that  fascinated  him ;  it  alternated  so 
strangely  with  the  grand  air  which  seemed 


68  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

equally  natural  to  her,  and  which  was  as 
scornful  and  aristocratic  as  if  she  had  been 
born  a  princess. 

"  Do  you  not  find  the  American  girls  very 
different  from  any  others,  Clawski  ?  "  he  asked, 
as  the  two  men  left  the  house  together. 

"  Mon  Dieu,  yes,"  replied  the  diplomate. 
*'  I  do  not  pretend  to  understand  them,  and 
have  never  anything  to  say  to  them.  They 
are  to  me  charming,  but  incomprehensible. 
With  the  married  women  I  am  at  home,  but 
with  the  young  ladies  who  rule  so  much  in 
American  society,  I  am  quite  at  a  loss  to 
understand,  or  make  myself  understood." 


A  NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  69 


CHAPTER   IV. 

GLADYS  CARLETON  was  not  one  of  the 
women  who  are  born  possessed  of  a  demon 
of  coquetry.  The  mere  suffering  which  a 
man  undergoes  at  the  hands  of  a  coquette  is 
not  in  its  first  effects  so  greatly  to  be  depre 
cated.  It  is  in  the  consequences  that  lies 
the  deepest  wrong  which  the  insincere  woman 
does  to  the  man  who  loves  her.  For  the 
distrust  of  her  whole  sex  which  grows  upon 
him,  and  the  conviction  that  neither  she  nor 
her  kind  are  worthy  of  the  best  that  is 
in  his  nature,  she  is  responsible.  The  disdain 
which  he  may  feel  toward  her  cannot  greatly 
injure  him. 

But  the  spirit  in  which  he  regards  that 
tendency  in  his  nature  which  looks  to  woman 
for  the  truest  support  of  his  life,  and  the 


70  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

systematic  hardening  of  those  qualities  in 
him  which  reach  out  instinctively  to  the 
feminine  side  of  humanity,  are  soul  hurts, 
which  are  not  healed  when  the  pain  of  the 
deceived  love  has  passed. 

His  judgment  of  the  whole  sex  cannot 
fail  to  be  biassed  by  his  experience  of  the 
woman  who  has  most  deeply  interested  him. 
Thus  it  is  that  the  coquette,  by  lowering  the 
whole  standard  of  womanhood  in  the  eyes  of 
man,  injures  her  own  sex  as  well  as  the  other. 

The  forms  of  coquetry  are  infinitely  va 
ried,  and  some  of  them  are  much  more  rep 
rehensible  than  others.  The  woman  who 
undertakes  conquests  simply  for  the  glory  of 
displaying  at  the  wheels  of  her  chariot  the 
captive  she  holds  by  the  rosy  bonds  of  love, 
is  the  commonest  type. 

As  her  coquetry  is  of  the  most  patent  kind, 
its  wounds  are  rarely  severe  or  lasting,  and  yet 
there  is  a  certain  vulgarity  about  this  spirit  of 
conquest,  which  makes  this  type  of  women 
dangerous  to  both  men  and  women. 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  /I 

A  more  subtle  and  disastrous  influence  is 
wielded  by  the  woman  who  is  bent  on  the 
scientific  analysis  of  the  various  effects  pro 
duced  by  the  tender  passion  on  men  of  differ 
ent  character  and  nature. 

She  has  little  pigeon-holes  marked  with 
different  characteristic  names,  and  into  these 
she  classifies  every  new  specimen.  She  is 
apt  soon  to  discover  that  the  pigeon-holes 
may  be  very  few,  and  that  nearly  all  the  men 
she  meets  will  fit  exactly  into  one  or  another 
of  them. 

When  she  has  arrived  at  this  conclusion 
she  is  satisfied ;  two  or  three  good  specimens 
of  every  sort  having  been  coolly  analyzed 
and  properly  pigeon-holed.  « 

It  is  variety,  and  not  quantity,  she  desires  ; 
and,  having  already  become  quite  familiar 
with  the  manner  in  which  a  certain  species 
of  the  genus  homo  is  affected  by  the  greatest 
of  passions,  she  allows  many  possible  victims 
to  pass  by  without  an  effort  or  desire  to  add 
them  to  her  collection  ;  but  if  a  specimen 


72  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

hitherto  unclassified  crosses  her  path,  she  is 
ready  with  her  little  dissecting-knife  to  peer 
into  the  labyrinths  of  a  new  phase  of  human 
nature. 

Another  class,  perhaps  the  most  dan 
gerous  one,  into  which  we  are  dividing  co 
quettes,  includes  those  women  who  fancy 
themselves  in  love  with  each  fresh  lover. 
These  are  emotional  and  sympathetic  wo 
men,  who,  being  incapable  of  strong  feelings 
themselves,  are  borne  along  by  the  force  of 
a  passion  which  fascinates  them,  and  which 
they  would  gladly  reciprocate.  In  their  often 
renewed  disappointment  at  finding  that  the 
new  lover  cannot  make  them  forget  them 
selves,  they  feel  a  sense  of  injustice,  and 
never  dream  that  they  are  not  the  injured 
ones. 

To  none  of  these  classes  of  coquettes  did 
Gladys  belong.  She  had  broken  her  share 
of  hearts  in  her  day,  but  it  was  more  for 
want  of  an  occupation  than  for  any  other 
reason.  She  had  no  very  particular  talent 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  73 

for  anything,  not  even  for  society,  in  which 
she  was  a  prominent  but  not  a  popular 
figure. 

A  great  belle  she  undoubtedly  was,  which 
did  not  make  the  women  particularly  fond  of 
her.  Men  all  admired  her,  and  elbowed  and 
fought  for  a  place  at  her  side  in  the  ball 
room.  A  good  many  of  them  were  in  love 
with  her,  and  yet  few  liked  her.  She  was 
admirable,  she  was  lovable,  but  she  was  dis 
tinctly  unlikable. 

A  certain  fondness  for  the  truth  made  her 
speak  it  at  all  times,  even  when  it  carried 
something  of  a  sting  with  it. 

Her  intellect  was  of  a  high  order  enough 
to  show  her  the  insipidity  of  the  men  and 
women  among  whom  her  lot  was  cast.  It 
was  not  strong  enough  to  force  her  to  leave 
the  circle  in  which  she  was  born,  and  strive 
for  a  footing  in  the  world  of  thought,  action, 
art,  or  literature. 

She  laughed  at  the  Philistines,  and  yet 
avowed  herself  to  be  one  of  them. 


74  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

The  clever  men,  those  who  wrote  books 
and  painted  pictures,  if  they  found  them 
selves  in  her  company,  were  invariably  drawn 
toward  her.  She  numbered  a  poet,  two  jour 
nalists,  and  a  marine  painter  among  her  win 
ter's  conquests. 

Tennis  was  one  of  her  favorite  amuse 
ments,  and  when  her  English  acquaintance 
appeared,  in  accordance  with  her  permission, 
at  twelve  o'clock  on  the  morning  after  the 
polo  match,  he  found  her  dressed  for  the 
game.  A  long  practice  followed,  at  the  end 
of  which  Miss  Carleton  acknowledged  her 
indebtedness  to  Mr.  Larkington  for  several 
points. 

"  What  can  I  teach  you  in  return  for  your 
excellent  coaching,  Mr.  Larkington  ?  "  asked 
Gladys,  as  they  sat  on  the  veranda  after 
lunch.  The  young  man  was  silent,  and  ab 
sently  rolled  himself  a  cigarette,  using  one 
hand  in  the  operation,  a  I Espagnol. 

"You  are  silent.  Does  that  mean  that 
I  cannot  teach  you  anything?  Well,  per- 


A  NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  75 

haps  you  are  right ;  I  am  rather  an  ignora 


mus." 


"  Why  do  you  answer  your  own  question  ? 
You  can  teach  me  many,  many  things,  but 
what  I  should  like  best  to  learn  would  be 
how  to  please  you,  Miss  Gladys." 

"  If  you  want  to  please  me,  don't  call  me 
Miss  Gladys.  I  am  well  out  of  my  teens, 
and  do  not  care  to  be  addressed  in  that 
school-girl  fashion.  I  know  you  have  heard 
other  men  speak  of  and  to  me  in  that  man 
ner;  but  it  is  an  odious  fashion,  and  I  hate 
it." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Carleton,  —  I 
will  not  offend  you  again  in  that  matter. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  this  afternoon  ? 
You  must  send  me  away  if  I  interfere  with 
any  of  your  engagements." 

"  I  am  going  out  at  four,  in  Mr.  Bel- 
homme's  yacht.  I  want  to  see  the  sunset  over 
the  waters.  I  promised  my  cousin,  before  he 
left,  that  I  would  go  to  a  certain  spot  and 
get  a  particular  view  of  the  bay.  I  am  quix- 


76  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

otic  in  the  matter  of  promises;  yes,  really 
I  am,  and  never  break  one.  Mr.  Belhom- 
me  has  promised  to  take  me  just  where  I 
want  to  go.  Would  you  like  to  go  with 
us  ?  " 

"  I  should  of  course  be  delighted ;  but 
would  it  be  convenient,  do  you  think  ? " 

"  Oh,  perfectly ;  I  make  up  my  own  party, 
and  invite  all  the  people.  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer 
is  going  as  chaperon.  I  don't  know  how 
you  will  like  the  company,  I  fancy  you  will 
not  know  any  of  them  ;  it  is  the  Boston  gang 
principally." 

"  Indeed,  I  never  met  a  Bostonian  to  know 
him  —  or  her.  They  are  said  to  be  more 
like  English  people  than  New  Yorkers  are ; 
is  that  true  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  it  is.  Those  who  come 
to  Newport  are  a  queer  lot.  We  have  a 
great  many  traditions  about  the  cleverness 
of  the  Boston  women,  the  fascinations  of  the 
men,  but  I  confess  to  be  greatly  at  a  loss  to 
account  for  their  reputation,  which  I  don't 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  77 

think  is  deserved.  The  women  are  not  any 
prettier,  and  certainly  the  specimens  we  see 
here  are  no  better  informed,  than  the  average 
New  Yorker.  They  have  a  curious  elephan 
tine  way  of  carrying  on  flirtations,  which  is 
quite  peculiar  to  them.  The  men  are  all 
married  and  very  much  married ;  they  seem 
to  have  entirely  severed  their  relations  with 
all  womankind,  save  their  wives.  The  few 
bachelors  I  have  met  are  so  petted  and 
spoiled  that  there  is  no  enduring  them." 

"  You  dispose  of  them  in  a  few  words." 

"You  shall  judge  if  my  remarks  are  with 
or  without  a  foundation." 

Before  many  hours  passed,  Mr.  Larkington 
had  an  excellent  opportunity  of  noticing  the 
manners  and  customs  of  the  "  Boston  gang," 
as  Gladys  had  disrespectfully  spoken  of  her 
guests  of  the  afternoon. 

The  distance  from  the  wharf  to  the  great 
steam  yacht  was  safely  accomplished  in  a 
pretty  rowboat.  As  soon  as  the  party  were 
all  on  board,  the  good  yacht  Dolphin  steamed 


78  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

out  of  the  harbor,  and  headed  for  quiet  water, 
passing  along  the  coast  of  the  island,  toward 
Providence. 

Gladys,  who  was  a  capital  sailor,  rather 
viciously  suggested  going  "  outside  "  into  the 
rough  waters  of  the  open  sea,  but  she  was 
silenced  by  a  sharp  rebuke  from  Mrs.  Fallow- 
Deer,  who  grew  pale  at  the  very  thought. 
The  ladies  of  the  "  Boston  gang  "  seemed  no 
better  pleased  at  the  idea,  and  the  Dolphin, 
abandoning  all  hopes  of  a  tumble  with  the 
waves,  cut  the  quiet  waters  evenly  with  her 
sharp  prow. 

Miss  Carleton  expatiated  upon  the  joys  of 
riding  over  the  big  waves. 

Mr.  Larkington  was  presented  first  to  one 
and  then  to  another  of  the  ladies,  with  all  of 
whom  he  found  himself  quite  at  home  in  a 
short  time. 

Their  names  he  was  somewhat  puzzled  by ; 
many  of  them  he  had  never  before  met  with 
in  any  part  of  the  world. 

One  pretty  married  woman  with  an  impos- 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  79 

sible  three-syllabled  patronymic  advised  him 
to  come  to  Boston  for  the  winter,  if  he 
should  remain  so  long  in  America. 

She  explained  that  for  a  man  the  Athens 
of  America  was  really  the  most  delightful 
place  in  the  world.  Nowhere  else  were  they 
so  well  treated,  in  spite  of  all  the  talk  about 
the  rights  of  women. 

"  Things  are  rather  reversed  with  us,  and 
it  is  the  men  who  have  all  the  privileges. 
We  women  are  so  much  in  the  majority 
that  we  practically  have  the  same  rights  that 
men  do.  Indeed,  the  male  sex  are,  in  our 
community,  the  privileged  class.  They  are 
exempt  from  every  social  duty,  and  included 
in  every  social  pleasure.  The  charities  and 
the  reforms  are  carried  on  by  ladies,  who 
minister  to  the  sick  and  uphold  the  priv 
ileges  of  the  criminals.  We  visit  the  hos 
pitals  and  the  prisons,  pay  the  taxes,  give 
the  parties,  oversee  the  schools,  and  keep 
up  the  churches.  It  is  a  fair  division,  is  it 
not?" 


80  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

The  lady  laughed  as  she  asked  the  ques 
tion,  and  Larkington,  not  knowing  what  to 
answer,  laughed  too. 

He  was  not  quite  sure  whether  she  was  in 
earnest  or  in  jest.  There  was  a  certain  want 
of  softness  about  the  voice  of  the  lady  with 
the  three-syllabled  name,  a  certain  indepen 
dence  of  manner,  which  did  not  please  him, 
though  he  thought  her  pretty  and  bright. 
The  pillow  behind  her  slipped  to  the  ground 
as  she  sat  looking  at  the  group  of  people 
at  the  other  end  of  the  boat.  Larkington 
started  to  pick  it  up  for  her,  but  she  had 
involuntarily  stooped  and  regained  it. 

Then  she  laughed  and  said,  — 

"  If  Miss  Carleton  had  dropped  that  pillow, 
it  would  never  have  occurred  to  her  that  she 
might  pick  it  up.  You  see  that  I  quite  nat 
urally  leaned  forward  to  get  it,  though  you 
were  so  near  me.  That  is  the  difference  be 
tween  the  New  York  and  Boston  woman. 
We  expect  nothing  from  mankind ;  they  re 
gard  the  male  sex  as  simply  created  for  their 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  Si 

service.  Let  us  join  the  others ;  I  think 
there  will  be  some  singing.  Somebody  has 
brought  Miss  Carleton's  banjo." 

The  Englishman  was  not  displeased  at 
the  opportunity  thus  offered  of  returning  to 
that  part  of  the  deck  where  Gladys  Carleton 
had  thrown  herself  on  a  pile  of  ropes.  The 
mast  behind  her  served  for  a  support.  She 
sat  in  Turk  fashion,  a  thing  few  women  can 
do  with  comfort  or  with  grace.  At  the  mo 
ment  when  Larkington  approached,  Gladys 
was  indulging  in  the  infantile  amusement  of 
playing  ball  with  Mr.  Silsbee  Saltonstall,  of 
Boston.  A  red  apple  provided  by  the  stew 
ard  served  for  the  plaything. 

Mr.  Saltonstall  was  a  good-looking  young 
fellow  of  eight  and  twenty,  tall,  rather  grace 
fully  modelled,  with  a  decidedly  handsome 
head.  His  was  an  earnest  face,  with  deep 
blue  near-sighted  eyes,  blond  beard,  a  wide 
forehead,  and  peculiarly  sparkling  white 
teeth. 

Gladys  threw  the  apple   in  the  most  pro- 


82  A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

yoking  manner,  trying  every  time  to  toss  it 
out  of  his  reach,  but  Saltonstall  had  not 
played  in  the  Harvard  Base  Ball  Nine  for 
nothing,  and  he  caught  it  every  time,  making 
impossible  reaches  in  all  directions. 

After  a  few  minutes,  Gladys  wearied  of  the 
game,  and  tossed  the  apple  overboard  "  for 
the  fishes,"  she  said. 

Then  Saltonstall,  in  obedience  to  a  half- 
gesture  from  the  girl,  took  his  place  beside 
her  on  an  adjacent  pile  of  ropes. 

Gladys  did  not  look  at  Larkington,  who 
stood  near  by,  but  began  talking  seriously 
and  in  a  rather  low  voice  to  the  Bostonian. 

"  Your  sister  tells  me  you  are  writing  a 
book,  Mr.  Saltonstall,  on  the  higher  ethics  of 
sociology.  I  was  much  interested  in  talking 
to  her  about  it.  I  fancy  you  do  not  agree 
with  Herbert  Spencer  in  all  his  premises, 
from  what  I  know  of  your  character." 

"You  are  quite  right,  Miss  Carleton.  I 
find  that,  in  working  out  to  a  logical  conclu 
sion  the  principles  which  Spencer  advances, 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  83 

one  finds  one's  self  in  a  cul-de-sac,  and  is 
led  up  to  a  blind  wall.  I  therefore  main 
tain  that  certain  of  his  premises,  and  the 
inferences  he  draws  from  them,  are  fallacious. 
In  my  book  I  have  tried  to  explain  my 
doubts  of  his  principles." 

"  How  interesting  you  must  find  it  to  set 
your  mind  in  an  antagonistic  attitude  to 
thinkers  like  Spencer  and  Huxley!  Could 
you  explain  to  me  just  where  you  differ  from 
these  English  philosophers  ?  " 

"  In  the  hypothesis  which  they  maintain 
concerning  cerebral  action  and  intellectual 
activity.  Morality  and  immorality,  accord 
ing  to  Huxley,  depend  merely  upon  the 
condition  of  the  muscles  and  tissues  of  the 
body.  He  admits  no  responsibility  of  man, 
save  towards  his  descendants.  For  his  own 
misdeeds  man  is  not  responsible ;  his  sins 
are  chargeable  to  the  account  of  society. 
The  inner  essence,  the  ideal  side  of  human 
nature,  is  denied.  But  let  us  talk  of  some 
thing  else  besides  my  hobbies,  Miss  Carleton. 


84  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

I  see  I  am  boring  you  already,  and  I  have 
driven  your  English  friend  away  from  your 
side  in  terror  and  amaze." 

"  And  why  should  you  assume  that  you  are 
boring  me,  Mr.  Saltonstall?  Do  you  think 
me  incapable  of  following  your  conversa 
tion  ?  " 

"  Not  for  an  instant,  Miss  Carleton  ;  it  is 
not  that  you  could  not  think,  and  think  intel 
ligently,  upon  this  subject,  or  any  other  that  I 
could  talk  to  you  about  —  only  —  I  do  not 
think,  to  speak  frankly,  that  it  interests 
you." 

"  Then  why  should  I  have  begun  by  speak 
ing  of  it  ? " 

"  Your  natural  goodness  of  heart  prompted 
you  to  try  to  put  me  at  my  ease." 

"  You  have  known  me  long  enough  to 
know  that  I  have  n't  any  natural  goodness 
of  heart." 

"  Politeness,  then.  You  will  acknowledge 
that  you  have  that  quality  to  an  uncommon 
degree  ? " 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  85 

"  Prevarication.  Pure  prevarication  this, 
Mr.  Saltonstall.  It  is  quite  useless  to  pur 
sue  it  with  me.  Remember  that  I  have 
known  you  a  very  long  time,  and  though  our 
acquaintance  has  been  a  superficial  one,  still 
it  has  given  me  some  chances  to  judge  of 
your  character.  Dissimulation  is  not  a  nat 
ural  weakness  of  yours.  You  have,  no 
doubt,  quite  enough  sins  without  cultivat 
ing  that  one.  Take  my  advice  and  remain 
the  living  curiosity  that  you  are,  the  one 
man  who  is  not  a  liar.  Now  tell  me  why  a 
cloud  came  into  your  eyes  suddenly,  and  you 
shrouded  the  thoughts  in  which  I  was  be 
coming  so  deeply  interested.  Frankly  now 
—  tell  me." 

"  If  you  will  have  the  truth,  Miss  Carleton, 
I  have  a  particular  and  possibly  unreason 
able  objection  to  submitting  myself  to  the 
process  known  among  ladies  as  '  drawing  a 
man  out.'  I  distinctly  dislike  to  be  made  to 
ride  my  hobby  around  a  lady's  drawing-room, 
or  even  around  her  yacht." 


86  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

"  And  why  do  you  think  I  was  drawing 
you  out  ? " 

"  Because  you  are  aware  that  a  man  is 
never  so  agreeably  employed  as  when  ex 
pounding  his  own  particular  theory  to  an 
indulgent  listener." 

"In  other  words,  you  imagine  that  I  was 
martyrizing  myself  by  listening  to  your  talk, 
in  order  that  I  might  inspire  you  with  the 
pleasant  impression  that  you  had  succeeded 
in  interesting  me  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  From  what  source  have  you  drawn  these 
conclusions  ?  " 

"  From  my  former  experience  of  the  fair 
sex.  A  man  may  be  flattered  even  when  he 
is  not  deceived,  Miss  Carleton.  It  is  a  source 
of  satisfaction  to  know  that  one  has  aroused 
a  desire  to  please." 

"  You  flatter  yourself  too  much  in  this 
case,  in  fancying  that  I  would  take  the 
trouble  to  counterfeit  an  interest  I  do  not 
feel,  to  act  a  part,  for  your  benefit." 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  87 

"  It  is  hardly  an  effort  to  follow  the  dic 
tates  of  one's  nature,  Miss  Carleton." 

"  And  you  imply  exactly  what  ?  " 

u  That  the  love  of  conquest  is  fixed  in  the 
feminine  character.  It  is  the  old  fable  of  the 
knight  and  the  witch.  '  The  love  of  power ' 
is  the  answer  to  the  feminine  riddle." 

"  I  really  ought  to  be  angry  at  your  imper 
tinence,  I  suppose.  But  a  soft  answer  turneth 
away  wrath.  I  will  rather  try  to  convince 
you  of  the  error  of  your  ways.  Women  are 
by  nature  sympathetic.  That  natural  sympa 
thy  of  temperament  is  touched  not  only  on 
the  emotional  side,  but  also  on  the  intellect 
ual.  They  have  thinking-machines  which 
are  for  the  most  part  kept  quite  idle,  —  with 
out  '  feed,'  to  use  a  mechanical  simile.  The 
new  thoughts  which  a  man  may  bring  them 
quickly  set  the  thinking-machine  in  motion, 
and  it  eagerly  draws  the  '  feed '  into  its  inte 
rior.  Your  hobby  is  to  another  man  who 
has  a  stable  full  of  his  own,  a  bore  and  a 
nuisance ;  to  a  woman  who  is  hobbyless,  it  is 


88  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

sometimes  the  greatest  pleasure  to  go  for  a 
gallop  en  croitpe  behind  a  gallant  rider  who 
bestrides  a  well-groomed  hobby.  Now  I  was 
in  mid  gallop  over  a  new  road,  familiar  to  you, 
interesting  to  me,  when  the  hobby,  being 
well  bred,  does  not  stumble,  but  the  man 
does,  and  down  we  all  come  together,  dissat 
isfied  and  balked  of  our  ride.  The  stone  in 
the  road  which  upset  us  being  nothing  in  the 
world  but  the  suspicion  —  vanity — how  shall 
I  call  that  quality  in  the  Boston  man  which 
is  so  individual,  so  intangible,  so  utterly 
exasperating  ?  " 

"  You  cannot  expect  me  to  help  you  to  find 
that  word  which  is  to  condemn  myself." 

"  I  have  it  —  caution." 

"  Miss  Carleton,  if  a  man  would  keep  his 
peace  of  mind,  he  must  hold  fast  to  caution 
in  your  society." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  your  fascinations  are  so  devas 
tating  to  future  security  and  peace." 

"  Then  you  would  rather  not  be  fascinated  ? 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  89 

Strange  creature  !  A  European  would  look 
on  you  as  a  lunatic.  And  yet  it  is  the  char 
acteristic  of  your  race.  One  would  almost 
fancy  you  to  be  like  the  youth  in  the  song 
of  Heine,  who,  when  the  beautiful  maiden 
asks  him  the  source  of  his  grief,  replies : 
'  I  belong  to  that  race  of  Asras  who  must 
die  when  they  love.'  But,  to  convince  you 
that  I  have  no  design  in  *  drawing  you  out,' 
to  prove  that  I  am  not  plotting  against  your 
peace  of  mind,  I  shall  join  the  Philistines, 
who  have  been  clamoring  for  a  song ;  will 
you  help  me  in  the  chorus  ?  " 

Saltonstall  could  not  sing,  unfortunately, 
and  he  rather  unreasonably  resented  the 
breaking  up  of  a  tete-a-tete  so  agreeable,  so 
dangerous.  Gladys  tuned  her  banjo,  and,  a 
mandolin  being  found  in  the  depths  of  Mr. 
Belhomme's  stateroom,  Larkington  accom 
panied  the  music  of  the  tinkling  instrument 
with  the  softer  picking  of  the  mandolin 
strings.  He  had  learned  to  play  the  instru 
ment  in  Naples  long  ago,  he  said.  The  sirl 


90  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

had  a  strong,  sweet  soprano  voice  ;  the  man, 
a  baritone  of  velvety  quality. 

They  first  sang  the  popular  music  of  the 
time,  the  strains  of  lolanthe  and  the  Sor 
cerer.  Then,  as  the  day  waned  and  the  sea 
and  sky  grew  rosy  and  golden  with  the 
sunset  colors,  they  sang  tender  Italian  folk 
songs. 

Saltonstall  stood  leaning  against  the  mast, 
looking  at  Gladys  as  she  stood  facing  him, 
her  figure  in  a  pose  of  perfect  grace,  her 
head  thrown  back  a  little,  her  white  hands 
touching  the  strings  of  her  instrument.  Her 
face  was  lit  up  with  the  warm  hues  of  the 
sunset  clouds ;  behind  her  was  a  background 
of  dark  land  and  gray  sky. 

As  the  boat  glided  smoothly  along  the 
shores  of  the  island,  the  mighty  trees  of 
Redwood  loomed  up,  looking  twice  their  size 
in  the  uncertain  light.  Over  the  tops  of  the 
proud  trees  crept  the  big  yellow  moon  slowly, 
flooding  the  heavens  with  her  light,  shaming 
the  garish  fires  of  the  western  sky. 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  91 

As  they  entered  the  harbor  and  drew  near 
the  wharf,  the  two  voices,  which  had  for  a 
time  been  silent,  broke  forth  into  a  "  good 
night,"  —  a  pretty  German  serenade,  which 
was  received  with  great  applause. 

"  Thank  you  for  the  most  perfect  day  of 
my  life,"  whispered  Larkington,  as  he  helped 
Gladys  down  the  gangway  to  the  little  boat. 

"  Good-night  and  good-by,  Miss  Carleton," 
said  Silsbee  Saltonstall.  "  I  shall  not  have 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  again,  as  I  leave 
Newport  to-morrow." 

"  And  has  to-day  been  so  long  that  the 
month  you  yesterday  expected  to  pass  at 
Newport  seems  to  have  gone  by?  Thank 
you  for  the  compliment.  Good-by ;  don 
voyage.  Take  my  advice,  and,  as  you  are 
a  cautious  Boston  man,  don't  go  to  Mt. 
Desert.  I  should  recommend  the  Adiron- 
dacks  for  you.  Good-night." 

True  to  his  word,  Silsbee  Saltonstall  left 
Newport  the  next  morning.  He  felt  himself 
on  the  verge  of  falling  in  love  with  the 


92  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

strange  girl  with  the  deep  eyes  and  lovely 
voice.  It  was  not  in  accordance  with  his 
plan  of  life  to  fall  in  love  for  the  next  ten 
years. 

He  followed  Miss  Carleton's  advice  in 
avoiding  Mount  Desert,  and  chose  instead 
a  month's  camping  out  in  Northern  Maine. 
The  sonnet  he  wrote  to  her  that  night  after 
the  sail  Gladys  never  saw  till  years  after, 
when  she  stumbled  upon  it  in  a  book  of  his 
verses. 


A  NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  93 


CHAPTER   V. 

ON  Monday  evening  all  the  beau  monde  of 
Newport  assemble  and  meet  together  in  the 
hall,  or  theatre,  of  the  Casino. 

It  is  a  pretty  building,  with  wide-roofed 
piazzas  running  around  it  on  two  sides. 
There  are  delicious  corners  and  angles  in 
these  piazzas,  where  confidences  may  be 
whispered,  and  protestations  might  be  made, 
if  anybody  had  time  to  make  protestations 
at  Newport  during  the  season. 

The  hall  is  a  large  apartment,  with  a  stage 
at  one  end.  The  walls  are  of  a  pretty  light 
tint,  and  the  gallery  with  its  rounded  arches 
is  of  a  graceful  design.  The  polished  hard 
wood  floor  is  cleared  on  Monday  evening  for 
dancing. 

On  the  evening  in  question,  the  hall  was 
filled  with  an  unusually  large  company  of 


94  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

gayly  dressed  people.  Every  available  seat 
was  occupied,  and  the  crowd  of  black  coats 
in  the  doorways  was  as  dense  as  it  is  at  a 
Boston  Papanti  party.  The  corresponding 
number  of  pretty,  fresh,  unattended  young 
girls  on  the  benches  was  not,  however,  to  be 
found. 

The  hum  of  the  voices  was  very  loud, 
almost  deafening  to  a  silent  person  when  the 
sound  was  not  drowned  by  the  music.  At 
the  right-hand  upper  corner  of  the  room  the 
talk  seemed  to  be  the  loudest.  Here  sat  a 
group  of  people  conversing  busily  and*  ear 
nestly.  This  little  knot  of  eighteen  or  twenty 
persons  included  those  whom  Gladys  had 
yclept  the  "  Boston  gang."  The  central  fig 
ure  w^as  that  of  a  tall  handsome  lady,  with  a 
loud  voice  and  brusque  manner. 

"  I  call  it  very  shabby  of  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer 
to  leave  me  out  of  the  hunt  dinner;  but  it 's 
a  comfort  to  know  that  none  of  the  rest  of 
you  are  goin',"  said  the  handsome  brusque 
lady. 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  95 

"  It  was  just  like  her,  but  I  suppose  Gladys 
Carleton  was  at  the  bottom  of  it.  Were  the 
invitations  given  out  in  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer's 
name  ?  " 

The  speaker  was  the  lady  with  the  three- 
syllabled  name  whom  Larkington  had  met 
on  board  the  Dolphin  on  the  occasion  of  the 
yachting  party. 

"  No,"  said  the  handsome  brusque  lady ; 
"but  everybody  knows  that  she  and  Gray 
Grosvenor  made  out  the  list.  As  to  Gladys 
Carleton,  I  can't  say  I  blame  her  for  not 
likin'  Boston  people." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  several  voices. 

"Because,  when  she  came  on  there  to 
make  a  visit  last  winter,  she  had  a  perfectly 
horrid  time.  She  stayed  with  some  people 
livin'  on  Newbury  Street,  whom  she  had  met 
in  Europe.  They  were  from  Philadelphia, 
and  nobody  knew  them  in  Boston,  though 
they  had  lived  there  five  years.  I  got  her  an 
invitation  to  the  assembly,  but  she  would  not 
go  because  her  friends  were  not  asked.  They 


g6  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

were  very  nice  people,  but  somehow  they  did 
not  '  get  on  '  in  Boston." 

"  Don't  you  think  that  the  Hub  is  a  pretty 
hard  place  for  any  stranger  to  '  get  on  '  in  ?  " 

Mr.  Curtis  Sears  was  the  speaker.  He 
was  a  young  Bostonian,  with  a  cold  thought 
ful  face,  who  looked  as  if  he  had  been  feel  on 
ice-water  during  his  infancy,  instead  of  the 
less  chilly  fluid  provided  by  nature  for  the 
human  young.  His  question  was  answered 
by  the  handsome  brusque  lady. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Sears,  I  quite  agree  with  you. 
A  stranger  who  comes  to  Boston  for  a  few 
weeks,  if  he  brings  proper  letters,  is  sure  to 
receive  a  great  deal  of  attention.  We  like  a 
lion  immensely.  But  with  people  who  come 
to  live  amongst  us,  it  is  a  very  different  mat 
ter.  Then  it  is  not  a  question  of  an  acquaint 
anceship  of  a  few  weeks,  but  a  permanent 
one.  That  makes  such  a  difference." 

"  One  of  my  old  classmates  at  college 
married  last  year,  and  brought  his  wife,  who 
was  a  New  York  belle,  to  Boston.  She  hap- 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  97 

pened  to  have  neither  relatives  nor  friends  in 
our  city,  and  as  he  was  little  given  to  society, 
he  had  few  personal  relations  with  it.  He 
belonged  to  one  of  the  best  families,  but  that 
served  the  little  bride  in  no  wise.  People 
simply  let  her  alone.  A  few  of  the  best- 
mannered  of  the  neighbors  called  upon  her, 
and  the  husband's  relatives  asked  her  to  dine 
once  at  their  several  houses,  and  'there  it 
stopped.  She  now  rails  against  Boston,  and 
lives  but  in  the  hope  of  inducing  her  hus 
band  to  remove  to  New  York." 

"The  truth  of  the  matter  is,"  said  the 
pretty  lady  with  the  three-syllabled  name, 
"  that  we  don't  want  all  the  nice  men  to 
marry  out  of  Boston.  We  all  have  cousins 
and  sisters,  even  if  our  daughters  are  too 
young  to  think  about  from  a  matrimonial 
standpoint,  and  it  is  very  aggravating  to 
have  these  New  York  women  just  pick  and 
choose  all  our  best  matches,  while  we  are 
groaning  under  the  overwhelming  surplus  of 
our  female  population." 

7 


98  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

This  remark  was  received  by  the  ladies  of 
the  "  gang  "  with  a  noticeable  warmth  and 
sympathy. 

At  this  moment  a  group  of  people  entered 
the  ballroom,  attracting  the  attention  of  all 
its  occupants. 

"  These  are  the  people  from  the  hunt  din 
ner,"  said  the  handsome  lady. 

The  gentlemen  of  the  party  of  new  ar 
rivals —  there  were  perhaps  fifteen  of  them 
—  were  dressed  in  red  evening  coats  and 
white  breeches.  The  costumes  of  the  ladies 
were  all  pretty,  and  bore  enough  resemblance 
to  each  other  to  make  the  whole  company 
appear  to  be  in  uniform.  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer, 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  Mr.  Belhomme,  headed 
the  train.  In  her  hand  she  carried  a  long 
polo  mallet  of  flowers.  Mrs.  Craig  bore  on 
her  arm  a  saddle  of  pansies.  Gladys  Carle- 
ton,  who  entered  the  room  last  with  Mr. 
Larkington,  had  been  awarded,  as  a  floral 
token  from  the  dinner,  a  hunting-horn  of 
scarlet  flowers,  which  she  wore  over  her 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  99 

shoulder,  attached  by  a  red  ribbon.  The 
entrance  of  the  gay  party  was  a  picturesque 
and  striking  feature  of  the  evening. 

Their  arrival  seemed  to  brighten  up  the 
company  already  assembled,  the  hum  of  talk 
grew  louder,  and  the  crowd  of  dancers  thicker 
than  it  had  been  earlier  in  the  evening.  The 
band  was  playing  the  wavy,  intoxicating  music 
of  Strauss,  and  the  circling  couples  danced 
rhythmically  to  the  measures  of  the  slow 
waltz. 

"  Will  you  dance  with  me,  Miss  Carleton  ?  " 
asked  Larkington. 

"  No,  Mr.  Larkington ;  I  am  not  in  the 
mood  for  dancing  to-night.  You  should  ask 
Mrs.  Craig;  she  is  an  excellent  dancer.  I 
am  too  blue  to  care  about  waltzing." 

"  How  can  you  say  that  you  are  blue  when 
you  have  been  the  life  of  the  dinner?  You 
never  looked  more  brilliantly  well  than  to 
night.  Has  anything  annoyed  you,  —  have 
I  —  " 

"You    flatter    yourself    too    highly,    Mr. 


100  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

Larkington.  No,  nothing  has  happened, 
and  you  have  nothing  to  do  with  my  in 
digo  fit." 

"  Something  has  —  " 

Gladys  again  interrupted  her  interlocutor. 
"  No,  nothing  has !  I  am  simply  tired  of 
myself.  There  is  the  difficulty.  You  know 
something  of  the  ways  of  people ;  have  you 
ever  before  known  a  person  in  my  position, 
with  plenty  to  eat  and  drink,  good  clothes  to 
wear,  kind  friends,  and  perfect  health,  who 
was  perfectly  weary  of  herself?  It  is  not 
life  that  I  am  bored  with,  but  myself.  I  am 
so  tired  of  my  own  face  that  I  cannot  bear 
to  look  in  the  glass ;  as  to  my  inner  self, 
it  is  the  most  tiresome,  utterly  uninteresting 
thing  to  me  in  the  wide  world." 

"  I  cannot  understand  your  state  of  mind, 
Miss  Gladys,  —  I  beg  pardon,  I  forgot,  — 
Miss  Carleton.  Is  it  not  Newport  that  you 
are  bored  with  ?  Why  not  try  some  other 
place  for  a  change  ?  " 

"  Why  ?     I  cannot  leave  myself  behind,  no 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  IOI 

matter  how  fast  I  might  travel,  seeking  new 
scenes,  from  Mt.  Desert  to  Saratoga." 

The  Englishman  looked  mildly  bewildered 
and  answered  nothing ;  gazing,  meanwhile, 
straight  into  the  deep  eyes  which  knew  no 
shadow  of  turning.  He  was  certainly  fall 
ing  in  love  —  perhaps  he  had  already  fallen 
in  love  —  with  this  original,  many-sided  crea 
ture,  as  fascinating  to  him  as  she  was  incom 
prehensible.  Larkington  had  steadily  per 
sisted  in  his  attentions  to  Miss  Carleton,  and 
was  not  ashamed  to  have  it  known  that  he 
was  her  devoted  admirer.  He  avoided  mak 
ing  the  acquaintance  of  other  ladies  as  much 
as  possible ;  and  when  he  could  not  be  at  her 
side  in  society,  he  would  stand  alone,  watch 
ing  her  every  movement.  The  sort  of  cow 
ardice  which  Gladys  had  found  in  some  of 
her  compatriot  lovers,  who  endeavored  to 
screen  their  admiration  of  her  from  the 
world,  had  no  place  in  the  actions  of  the 
Englishman.  He  waited  for  her  every  morn 
ing  when  she  drove  out  for  shopping  or  visit- 


IO2  A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

ing  in  her  cousin  Amelia's  pretty  cart  with 
the  Carleton  crest  on  harness  and  trappings. 
He  followed  on  horseback,  meeting  her  at 
every  turn.  In  the  afternoon  he  was  always 
in  attendance,  even  if  there  were  other  men 
about,  and  in  society  she  was  the  only  woman 
under  fifty  with  whom  he  ever  exchanged  a 
remark. 

This  absolute  devotion  was  rather  attrac 
tive  to  Gladys.  She  was  amused  by  the  big, 
handsome  man  who  was  so  entirely  of  the 
world  worldly,  in  most  respects,  and  yet 
seemed  so  perfectly  unaccustomed  to  the 
ways  of  women. 

He  had  a  fund  of  interesting  experiences 
to  relate,  and,  being  gifted  with  a  powerful 
imagination  and  a  vivid  faculty  of  descrip 
tion,  he  was  never  at  a  loss  for  an  anecdote 
of  travel  or  adventure. 

His  stories  of  life  in  Australia  were  thrill 
ing  and  full  of  crisp  humor.  He  knew 
Russia  and  the  other  northern  countries  of 
Europe,  as  well  as  the  more  frequented 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  103 

southern  lands.  What  he  knew  he  had 
learned  from  actual  contact  with  the  world 
and  its  people,  and  there  was  no  guide-book 
knowledge  or  other  cheap  information  to  be 
got  from  him.  He  had  lived  in  Syria  with 
a  band  of  Bedouins,  and  his  descriptions  of 
their  adventurous  life  never  failed  to  interest 
Gladys.  He  had  learned  their  strange  mu 
sic,  and  could  sing  their  wild  songs  of  love 
and  battle  wonderfully  well.  He  had  no 
theories  about  the  men  and  women  he  had 
known.  They  had  fallen  across  his  path  like 
people  one  meets  in  the  glare  of  mid-day, 
when  no  shadow  is  cast  upon  the  ground 
by  the  figures.  He  saw  them  clean  cut, 
as  they  stood  against  the  background  of 
their  own  surroundings,  and  no  shadowy 
reflection  fell  behind  them  as  his  explana 
tion  of  their  characters  or  actions.  He  saw 
people  distinctly,  and  remembered  them  as 
they  were.  This  quality  of  impersonal  judg 
ment  was  very  fascinating  to  Gladys,  who  al 
ways  enveloped  the  men  and  women  she  had 


104  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

known  in  a  sort  of  misty  garment  of  her  own 
imaginings,  which  blurred  their  real  outlines. 

"  If  you  will  not  dance,  Miss  Carleton,  will 
you  not  come  out  on  the  piazza  during  the 
waltz,  it  is  so  very  warm  here  ?  " 

"  By  all  means ;  let  us  go." 

The  two  young  people,  whose  names  were 
already  linked  together  by  the  busybodies  of 
Newport,  left  the  hot  ballroom  and  passed 
out  into  the  cool  evening  air.  It  is  never 
hot  at  night  in  Newport.  The  sea-breeze 
sweeps  across  the  island,  refreshing  those 
who  have  suffered  the  terrible  heats  of  the 
city  summer,  and  have  come  to  the  fresh 
health-giving  climate  for  rest. 

On  the  wide  piazza  groups  of  men  were 
sitting  together,  talking  and  smoking,  or 
silently  enjoying  the  beauty  of  the  perfect 
summer  night. 

In  one  of  the  shadowy  corners  stood  two 
chairs  lately  vacated  by  Mrs.  Craig  and 
Count  Clawski.  Gladys  placed  herself  in 
one  of  these,  her  companion  seating  himself 
at  her  side. 


A  NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  105 

"  Now  tell  me  things,"  said  the  girl,  impera 
tively. 

"What  shall  it  be  about  to-night?" 

"  Oh  !  anything  you  like.  You  might  fin 
ish  telling  me  about  the  Bedouin  chief  who 
fell  in  love  with  the  English  lady." 

"  No,  that  is  rather  too  long  a  story.  May 
I  not  tell  you  something  about  Newport  and 
what  has  happened  to  me  since  I  first  met 
you  here  in  this  very  Casino?  " 

14  Decidedly  not.  That  would  be  quite  too 
commonplace  and  every-day  an  experience." 

Larkington  was  silent  and  meditatively 
stroked  his  moustache,  from  which  action  he 
seemed  to  derive  a  certain  comfort. 

As  they  sat  quite  silent,  a  light  flashed 
close  to  the  face  of  Gladys,  —  a  tiny  golden 
spark,  —  and  was  quickly  lost  again  in  the 
darkness. 

"  What  a  pretty  firefly,  and  how  bright !  " 

"  You  should  take  the  firefly  as  your  device, 
Miss  Carleton,  for  it  resembles  you  more 
than  anything  else  that  I  have  seen." 


106  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

"  If  it  is  a  compliment,  thank  you  kindly. 
You  know  I  like  pretty  speeches  as  well  as 
Mrs.  Craig  likes  bonbons.  But  exactly  why 
am  I  like  a  firefly?  I  have  no  wings." 

"  In  the  song  about  Zuleika's  eyes  which 
you  liked,  they  are  compared  to  the  light  of 
the  firefly.  When  they  are  turned  upon  her 
lover  all  is  bright  and  beautiful,  but  when 
the  lids  drop  before  their  light,  like  the 
wings  of  the  firefly,  the  world  is  dark." 

"  Did  you  ever  know  any  one  called 
Zuleika?" 

"Yes." 

"  Where  did  she  live  ?  " 

"  In  a  little  tent  near  the  banks  of  the  river 
Jordan." 

"  Was  she  pretty  ?  " 

"Hardly  pretty;  the  term  is  too  English 
to  describe  the  black-browed  Zuleika." 

"  Who  was  she  ?  " 

"  The  daughter  of  the  sheik  Abdul,  with 
whom  I  lived  some  time." 

"  But  how  was  it  possible  that  you  should 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  IO/ 

know,  or  even  see,  his  daughter?  Is  not 
that  against  the  law  of  Mohammedan  eti 
quette  ?  " 

"  Yes.  It  happened  strangely  enough. 
Zuleika,  you  must  know,  spoke  English,  and 
was,  among  her  people,  a  marvel  of  learning. 
It  happened  in  this  wise.  The  Bedouin  who 
fell  in  love  with  the  English  lady,  a  brother 
of  Abdul's,  finally  left  his  tribe,  gave  up  his 
wives,  and  married  Lady  Margaret  Hopeston, 
an  eccentric  woman  with  a  large  fortune. 
They  lived  in  Damascus,  this  strangely 
matched  couple,  and  led,  it  is  said,  an  ex 
tremely  happy  life.  One  morning  Lady 
Margaret  was  roused  at  an  early  hour  by  the 
sound  of  a  cavalcade  tramping  in  her  court 
yard.  On  descending  to  ascertain  the  reason 
for  the  commotion,  her  eyes  were  greeted  by 
a  strange  sight.  A  whole  band  of  Bedouins, 
several  hundred  in  number,  were  crowded 
into  the  courtyard  and  lower  story  of  the 
house.  They  were  the  tribe  of  her  husband, 
who,  having  been  worsted  in  battle  and  pur- 


108  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

sued  by  a  hostile  band,  had  come  to  take 
refuge  within  his  gates,  in  the  city  of  Damas 
cus.  For  a  week  the  whole  band  claimed 
the  hospitality  of  their  brother,  and  made 
their  camp  in  the  house  and  grounds  of 
Lady  Margaret.  Her  attention  was  attracted 
to  Abdul,  then  young  and  handsome  (he  has 
often  assured  me)  as  the  morning  star,  tall  as 
the  palm-tree,  and  strong  as  the  whirlwind. 
Abdul  was  at  that  time  in  great  trouble ;  his 
favorite  wife  had  died,  leaving  him  the  one 
daughter  of  his  house,  Zuleika,  then  a  child 
of  five.  Instead  of  intrusting  her  to  the  care 
of  the  women,  Abdul  was  always  with  the 
little  girl,  who  was  as  dear  to  him  as  the 
spring  of  water  in  the  desert.  Lady  Mar 
garet  was  struck  by  the  devotion  of  this 
young  father  to  his  child,  and  became  deeply 
interested  in  the  pair.  When  the  welcome 
time  came  for  the  departure  of  her  strange 
guests,  Lady  Margaret  asked  of  Abdul  his 
daughter,  his  Zuleika,  the  breath  of  his  body, 
the  sun  of  his  sky.  It  was  all  she  asked  of 


A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  ICQ 

him,  and  he,  the  sheik  of  the  tribe,  could 
refuse  no  request  made  by  the  woman  who 
had  sheltered  his  people.  '  I  gave  my  Zu- 
leika  to  the  wife  of  my  brother  —  to  the 
woman  with  great  learning  —  without  a  tear 
without  a  sigh.'  I  remember  the  way  in 
which  Abdul  told  me  this,  as  if  it  were  but 
yesterday.  We  were  sitting  on  the  sand 
outside  the  tent,  a  great  fire  blazing  before 
us.  Some  of  the  men  of  the  tribe  were 
dancing  one  of  their  wild  barbaric  war  dances 
on  the  other  side  of  the  fire.  The  light 
gleamed  on  their  naked  swords,  their  dark 
fierce  faces,  and  the  white  drapery  of  their 
burnooses.  It  was  a  scene  never  to  be  for 
gotten.  Zuleika  remained  with  Lady  Margaret 
and  learned  many  things  which  were  of  use  to 
her  in  after  life.  First  of  all,  Lady  Margaret 
taught  her  the  English  language.  Zuleika's 
new  friend  showed  much  common-sense  in 
her  education  of  the  girl.  She  knew  that  it 
would  be  impossible  to  make  an  English 
woman  of  her,  and  so,  beyond  the  habits  of 


1 10  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

cleanliness,  and  the  arts  of  sewing  and  cook 
ing,  she  made  no  attempt  to  anglicize  the 
little  maiden.  Zuleika  was  taught  to  em 
broider  the  beautiful  patterns  you  value  so 
much  in  this  country.  I  have  a  scarf  she 
worked  for  me,  which  I  will,  show  you  some 
time.  For  seven  years  the  daughter  of  Ab 
dul  remained  the  constant  companion  of 
Lady  Margaret,  but  at  the  end  of  that  time 
the  restlessness  which  had  ever  been  upon 
her  grew  too  great  to  bear.  She  was  a 
woman  now,  according  to  the  reckoning  of 
her  people,  and  the  life  of  restriction  had 
never  been  pleasant  to  her.  She  fled  away 
in  the  night  to  the  desert,  where  *  she  heard 
the  stars  calling  her,'  and  with  the  help  of 
one  of  her  people  found  her  father.  Abdul 
rejoiced  at  the  return  of  the  daughter  he  had 
mourned  as  one  dead,  and  kept  her  always 
near  him.  Her  condition  was  a  pitiable 
one.  Her  father  had  not  the  heart  to  force 
her  to  marry  among  his  people,  for  the 
girl  was  naturally  intelligent,  and  with  the 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  Ill 

education  she  had  received,  rebelled  at  the 
thought  of  being  linked  to  a  savage.  An 
other  time  I  will  tell  you  how  I  came  to 
cast  my  lot  with  Abdul  the  Sheik ;  it  is  a 
long  history  of  adventure  which  you  may 
find  interesting.  It  is  enough  now  to  say 
that  for  three  months  I  was  his  guest.  At 
that  time  I  was  quite  ignorant  of  Arabic, 
though  I  soon  learned  enough  to  make  my 
self  understood.  Zuleika,  summoned  by  her 
father  from  the  tent  of  the  women,  would 
serve  as  an  interpreter  between  my  host  and 
myself,  and  during  the  evenings  when  we 
sat  together  smoking  before  the  tent  door, 
the  girl  would  stand  at  Abdul's  side,  and 
translate  to  him  all  the  things  he  so  eagerly 
asked  of  me.  He  was  peculiarly  intelligent, 
and  had  learned  from  his  daughter  much 
concerning  European  customs  and  character. 
He  was  never  tired  of  hearing  about  England 
and  the  manner  of  warfare  practised  by  the 
English.  In  return  for  what  I  could  tell 
him,  the  sheik  would  recite  to  me  the  tradi- 


112  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

tions  of  his  tribe,  and  sing  the  songs  of  his 
nation.  Zuleika,  as  you  will  imagine,  added 
much  to  the  interest  of  these  conversations, 
telling  me  of  her  strange  life  with  Lady  Mar 
garet,  and  the  terrible  gulf  which  it  had  made 
between  herself  and  her  people.  What  a 
long  story !  and  how  tired  you  must  be ! 
Have  you  heard  enough  about  Zuleika  ? " 
Larkington  asked. 

"  No,  not  half  enough !  But  there  is  Mrs. 
Fallow-Deer,  looking  for  me.  I  suppose  I 
must  go.  You  may  come  to-morrow  evening 
and  tell  me  the  rest  of  your  romance  of 
Arabia.  Good-night." 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  1 13 


CHAPTER    VI. 

MUCH  that  is  best  worth  seeing  in  New 
port  is  never  seen  by  a  majority  of  the 
people  who  visit  the  town  during  u  the  sea 
son."  In  the  eighteen  miles  length  and  nine 
miles  breadth  of  the  island  are  many  nooks 
and  grottos  unknown  to  those  individuals 
who  limit  their  expedition  to  the  ocean  drive, 
and  the  path  across  the  beaches.  Artists 
know  these  spots  and  linger  in  them.  Lovers 
find  them  out  somehow  instinctively.  But 
Newport  has  now  become  the  resort  of  the 
rich,  and  even  the  dwellers  in  the  quiet 
country  farm-houses  demand  exorbitant  prices 
for  their  simple  accommodations.  So  artists 
are  rarely  met  with,  and,  as  it  has  been 
hinted,  there  are  few  people  who  take  time  at 
this  most  brilliant  of  watering-places  to  fall 


114  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

in  love.  Love-Lane,  Fairy  Dell,  Glen  Anna, 
Vaucluse,  and  Lawton's  Valley  have  few 
visitors. 

It  is  a  pity  that  the  worldlings  have  found 
out  this  region  of  delight.  Any  other  place 
would  have  served  as  well  for  the  display  of 
their  horses  and  carriages,  diamonds,  clothes, 
beauty,  and  beaux.  Why  should  they  have 
chosen  to  erect  their  palatial  cottages  on  our 
quiet  island,  to  pass  their  idle  summer  in  the 
quaint  old  town  ? 

The  love  of  nature  is  not  always  a  natural 
gift.  With  the  dwellers  in  cities,  the  taste  is 
usually  one  which  has  been  acquired  through 
the  influence  of  some  country-bred  or  poetic 
mind.  How  many  beauties  of  sky  and  wood 
land,  flower  and  tree,  has  not  Wordsworth 
taught  us  to  see  ?  Keats  has  led  thousands 
of  ears  to  note  the  music  in  the  wild  bird's 
carol,  which  else  had  hardly  heeded  it.  Who 
does  not  see  a  new  delight  in  the  simple 
field  flower  after  reading  Burns's  description 
of  the  daisy? 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  115 

The  love  of  what  is  beautiful  in  art  is 
oftener  found  with  the  dwellers  of  a  city  than 
the  appreciation  of  those  beauties  in  nature 
which  art  reflects.  The  person  who  is  deeply 
impressed  by  a  fine  landscape  painting  will 
often  pass  by  the  view  which  inspired  the 
painter  without  observing  its  qualities  of  color 
and  effects  of  light  and  shade.  The  sensi 
tive  woman  who  shrinks  at  the  well-depicted 
portrait  of  a  wretched  beggar  will  pass  the 
poor  creature  whose  misery  has  struck  the 
artist  without  a  pang  of  pity.  The  girl  who 
weeps  bitterly  over  the  sorrows  of  a  heroine 
in  a  novel  watches  with  more  amusement 
than  sympathy  the  grief  and  trials  of  the 
heroine  of  a  life  romance. 

Gladys  Carleton  had  a  good  knowledge 
of  art  and  its  laws.  A  bad  picture  set  her 
teeth  on  edge,  and  she  could  go  through  an 
art  gallery  without  a  catalogue,  and  tell  the 
name  of  every  painter  whose  work  hung 
before  her.  With  nature  she  was  not  so 
much  at  home,  though  a  new  understanding 


Il6  A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

seemed  to  be  gradually  coming  to  her  of  its 
secrets  and  charms.  It  was  not  without  a 
certain  pain  that  this  new  feeling  crept  about 
her,  —  it  seemed  to  be  a  part  of  the  grieved 
loneliness  which  she  had  lately  experienced. 

"  People  can  be  nothing  to  us ;  there  is 
nothing  which  can  stand  by  us  but  our  work, 
and  when  we  have  not  any  work,  we  are 
alone." 

The  speech  was  not  a  very  coherent  one, 
and  the  person  to  whom  it  was  addressed 
received  it  in  silence. 

"  Books  are  a  help,  but  it  is  so  one-sided 
a  friendship  one  has  with  one's  book  friends. 
We  cannot  answer,  and  only  receive,  never 
giving  anything  in  return  for  what  we  get 
from  them." 

Gladys  Carleton  was  the  speaker,  and  the 
listener,  Larkington,  her  faithful  cavalier. 

"  You  live  too  much  with  your  books,  Miss 
Carleton,  and  too  little  with  your  kind.  It 
makes  you  melancholy.  You  should  learn 
to  care  more  for  people  and  less  for  ideas." 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  II 7 

"  What  nonsense  you  are  talking,  Mr. 
Larkington  !  Excuse  me  for  plain  speaking, 
but  you  are,  really.  I  do  not  think  you 
understand  at  all  what  I  mean." 

"  I  fear  that  I  do  not." 

There  was  a  pause,  after  which  Gladys 
said  abruptly,  — 

"  How  far  is  it  to  the  sea  ?  " 

"About  half  a  mile,  I  fancy." 

"  Please  go  down  to  the  shore  and  bring 
me  a  piece  of  red  seaweed." 

"  I  cannot  leave  you  here  alone." 

"  Why  not,  if  I  order  you  to  go  ?  Do  you 
not  know  how  to  be  obedient  ?  " 

"  You  are  teaching  me,  Miss  Carleton.  I 
never  knew  before  that  it  was  pleasanter  to 
obey  than  to  be  obeyed." 

"  Of  course  it  is.  There  is  no  such  luxury 
in  the  world  as  self-abnegation ;  it  is  the 
thing  we  all  long  for." 

"  I  do  not  fancy  that  you  would  enjoy  it ; 
you  are  too  imperious  by  nature.  You  were 
born  to  command.  I  never  heard  you  make 
a  request  in  your  life." 


Il8  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

"  In  other  words,  you  think  me  a  bully  ? 
Now  go  this  instant !  I  won't  have  you  stay 
here  and  abuse  me.  Go,  I  say,  and  bring 
me  the  bunch  of  red  seaweed." 

"  You  are  cruel,  but  I  yield.  You  are  not 
afraid  to  be  left  alone  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  am  within  calling  distance  from 
the  house." 

When  she  was  alone,  the  tall  beauty  rose 
from  her  seat  on  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree, 
and  walked  rapidly  in  the  opposite  direction. 
The  path  over  which  she  passed  was  fragrant 
with  pine  needles  and  wild  flowers.  Over 
head  hung  the  boughs  of  the  larch-trees 
which  lined  the  walks,  and  over  the  trees  was 
the  soft  blue  of  the  summer  sky.  Carrying 
her  riding  crop  in  one  hand,  and  holding  her 
habit  with  the  other,  she  ran  down  the  path, 
which  sloped  suddenly  toward  the  great 
pond  at  its  foot. 

Gladys  had  ridden  out  to  visit  a  country 
friend,  who  lived  in  a  quiet  vale  many  miles 
distant  from  the  gay  town.  Finding  her 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  119 

friend  absent,  the  girl  and  the  admirer,  who 
had  been  privileged  to  ride  with  her,  had  left 
their  horses  in  charge  of  the  groom,  and 
walked  down  to  view  the  quiet  beauty  of  the 
vale.  Gladys  loved  the  place,  and  was  not 
in  the  mood  for  badinage  with  Larkington. 
She  wished  to  be  alone,  and  so  had  sent  him 
off  in  quest  of  the  bunch  of  red  seaweed. 
She  had  not  been  in  this  pleasant  spot  for 
many  years.  She  remembered  the  last  time 
she  had  visited  it.  Cid  had  been  with  her. 
The  thought  of  him  had  made  the  presence 
of  the  Englishman  hateful  to  her. 

At  the  edge  of  the  pond  the  path  swerved 
to  the  left,  leading  down  to  the  deep  gorge 
below.  A  narrow  ledge  of  rock  stretched  to 
the  right,  skirting  the  millpond,  a  precipice 
of  a  hundred  feet  yawning  on  one  side,  the 
deep  water  on  the  other.  With  a  quick  step 
the  girl  passed  along  the  narrow  rocky 
ledge,  and  seated  herself  on  a  great  stone, 
which  lay  just  where  the  black  sheet  of  water 
poured  smoothly  over  the  edge  of  the  dam, 


120  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

to  be  frothed  into  a  white  mass  of  foam  at 
the  bottom  of  the  fall.  A  strong  young 
willow-tree  behind  the  rock  served  her  as  a 
support,  and,  twining  one  arm  about  its  slen 
der  stem,  she  sat  overhanging  the  waterfall, 
looking  down  into  the  deep  pool. 

The  bare  hand  which  embraced  the  trunk 
touched  a  rough  surface,  and  her  fingers 
traced  the  outline  of  some  letters,  cut  into 
the  bark.  She  could  not  see  the  letters, 
they  were  on  the  other  side  of  the  tree, 
but  she  had  not  forgotten  the  day  when 
they  were  carved,  all  those  years  ago,  —  G.  C. 
and  C.  F.?  with  a  true  lover's  knot  between 
the  initials.  She  laid  her  cheek  against 
the  willow  and  sat  quite  silent,  looking 
down,  always  down,  into  the  black  pool  at 
her  feet.  The  downcast  eyelids  quivered 
and  let  fall  a  tear,  which  dropped  unnoted  on 
her  knee.  Another  and  another  drop  of 
nature's  balm  coursed  down  the  pale  cheek, 
and  the  chest,  trembled  with  emotion  of  a 
silent  weeping.  There  was  no  violence, 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  121 

nothing  of  that  tearing  grief  with  which  the 
women  who  have  lived,  loved,  and  suffered 
weep  out  the  agony  which  seems  like  to  rend 
body  and  soul  apart.  The  burden  of  her 
life  seemed  too  great  for  her  to  bear,  and  she 
wept  for  the  emptiness  of  her  lot,  of  her 
heart.  A  verse  from  a  poem  which  had 
always  seemed  appropriate  to  herself  ran 
through  her  mind  :  — 

"  Elle  est  morte,  et  n'a  point  vdcu; 
Elle  faisait  semblant  de  vivre. 
De  ses  mains  est  tombd  le  livre 
Dans  lequel  elle  n'a  rien  lu." 

When  she  was  dead,  what  so  appropriate  as 
this  poem,  "  Sur  line  Morte,"  of  De  Musset's, 
could  be  read  over  her  cold  clay?  Why 
should  she  not  die  now?  How  easy  would 
it  be  to  slip  down  from  the  great  rock, 
and  lose  herself  in  the  oblivion  of  the  black 
pool,  with  the  white  foam  dancing  above 
her?  "  Who  would  care  much  ?  "  she 
asked  herself,  and  answered  her  own  ques 
tion  with  more  tears.  No  one  would  really 


122  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

miss  her.  Her  mother  would  grieve  a  little 
while,  but  the  other  daughters  would  soon 
receive  the  share  of  affection  which  the  shal 
low  parent  had  given  her.  It  was  a  love  of 
offspring  only,  and  had  no  tie  of  sympathy 
to  deepen  it. 

How  easy  it  would  be  to  move  a  few  steps 
to  the  edge  of  the  great  stone,  to  lean  far 
over  the  abyss,  holding  on  by  the  tree,  and 
at  last  to  let  go  her  grasp  and  fall  through 
the  soft  air  to  the  cool  black  water,  then  one 
great  pain  —  and  afterwards,  rest !  There 
was  the  terrible  thought  —  if  it  should  not 
be  rest  which  she  should  find  beneath  the 
dancing  foam  bubbles. 

Was  it  that  thought  only  which  kept  her 
from  doing  the  thing  which  she  had  pictured 
to  herself?  Was  it  the  doubt  which  held  her 
back  ?  "  Yes,"  she  reasoned,  "  only  that. 
Were  we  but  sure  of  what  awaits  us  on  the 
other  side,  how  many  of  us  would  remain 
upon  the  hither  bank  of  the  dark  river  which 
men  call  death,  and  which  saints  believe 
leads  to  life  everlasting." 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  123 

She  crept  nearer  to  the  edge,  and,  still 
clasping  the  tree  with  both  arms,  leaned  over 
the  rushing  torrent.  How  easy  it  would  be  ! 
One  little  movement  and  all  would  be  over. 
The  slender  ringers  closely  clasped  about  the 
tree  were  all  that  steadied  her.  If  she  should 
suddenly  unlace  them  the  movement  would 
throw  her  off  her  balance  —  and  the  great 
riddle  would  be  solved.  Why  should  she 
not  ?  Was  it  all  a  jest  ?  Was  she  in  earnest 
or  in  jest  ?  She  did  not  know. 

She  was  fascinated  by  the  strange  thought, 
and  stood  swaying  over  the  verge  of  the 
dizzy  height,  intoxicated  with  the  danger.  In 
one  instant  she  could  regain  a  firm  footing  on 
the  ledge,  or — what  was  the  trembling  she  felt 
beneath  her  feet?  Was  there  an  earthquake? 
Ah  !  with  a  wild  cry,  it  was  the  rock  under 
her  feet  that  shook.  It  had  become  loosened 
by  her  weight  on  its  extreme  edge,  it  swayed 
one  instant,  and  in  the  next  must  be  dashed 
into  the  boiling  caldron  below  —  and  she  ? 

This  was  her  reward  for  trifling  with  the 


124  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

great  power.  Death,  whom  she  had  thought 
about  so  lightly,  had  now  come  to  claim  her 
grimly.  She  looked  up  into  the  blue  sky, 
which  was  so  fair,  and  out  over  the  beauty  of 
the  lonely  gorge.  She  felt,  as  she  had  never 
done  before,  the  beauty  about  her  on  every 
side.  She  saw  the  possibilities  of  happiness 
and  usefulness  which  she  had  so  utterly  neg 
lected.  She  knew  that  life  was  a  blessing, 
and  in  the  cry  which  startled  the  still  air 
there  was  remorse  for  her  thanklessness  as 
well  as  agony  for  her  danger. 

The  rock  thrilled  once  more  beneath  her, 
and  as  it  trembled  'twixt  the  ledge  and  the 
precipice,  Gladys  lifted  a  prayer  for  her  life 
to  the  God  whose  existence  she  had  some 
time  denied. 

A  strong  hand  clasped  her  fingers,  she  felt 
her  waist  firmly  seized,  and  in  an  instant  she 
knew  that  she  was  safe,  though  the  great 
rock  had  fallen  from  its  bed  with  a  mighty 
crash,  and  the  white  foam  was  dashed  upon 
her  cheek  and  brow.  She  was  carried  a  few 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  125 

steps  in  a  pair  of  strong  arms  which  pressed 
her  close  to  a  fast-beating  heart.  She  was 
placed  gently  on  a  mossy  bank  by  some  one 
who  spoke  no  word.  Her  eyes  were  closed, 
though  she  had  not  fainted,  and  she  knew 
whose  arm  had  saved  her  in  the  hour  of 
danger.  She  was  grateful  and  looked  up  to 
speak. 

The  face  into  which  she  glanced  was  deadly 
white,  and  the  eyes  were  dim.  She  rose  to 
her  feet,  for  he  looked  so  strangely.  As  she 
stood  up  strong,  though  trembling  slightly, 
the  man  at  her  side  reeled,  as  if  he  had  been 
struck,  and  fell  fainting  to  the  ground  at  her 
feet. 

The  girl  knew  quite  well  what  to  do,  and, 
being  one  of  those  persons  who  are  never 
overcome  by  an  emergency,  she  quickly 
brought  the  swooning  man  to  his  senses.  A 
copious  sprinkling  with  cold  water  and  the 
application  of  Miss  Carleton's  vinaigrette  to 
his  nostrils  caused  Mr.  Cuthbert  Larkington 
to  open  his  eyes  in  a  few  moments.  When 


126  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

he  was  quite  restored,  Gladys,  turning  her 
face  from  him,  said,  — 

"  You  have  saved  my  life  —  and  I  am  very 
grateful  to  you !  May  I  ask  you  a  great 
favor?" 

"  Need  you  doubt  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  this,  that  you  will  never  mention 
what  has  happened  to-day  to  any  one.  Prom 
ise  me.  Do  not  even  speak  of  it  to  me.  I 
cannot  bear  to  think  of  it.  It  was  too 
terrible." 

"  Yes,  I  will  promise  on  one  condition." 

"  And  that  is  ?  " 

"  That  you  will  swear  to  me  never  to 
risk  your  precious  life  again  so  wilfully,  so 
wickedly." 

"  It  should  be  a  precious  life  ?  " 

"  It  is  dearer  to  me  than  my  own." 

"  Well,  I  promise.  Now  pledge  me  your 
word." 

She  held  out  to  him  her  delicate  hand, 
white  as  snow,  pink  as  apple  blossoms.  The 
man  touched  it  with  his  own  strong  fingers. 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  I2/ 

The  contact  seemed  to  move  him  strangely. 
His  pale  face  flushed,  and,  clasping  the 
dainty  hand,  he  kissed  it  a  score  of  times  on 
wrist  and  ringers  and  rosy  palm. 

"  I  forgive  you  because  you  did  me  the 
favor  to  help  me  out  of  a  very  perilous  posi 
tion  just  now.  But  remember  that  is  why 
you  are  pardoned.  I  shall  ask  you  to  ride  to 
town  alone.  My  groom  will  lead  my  horse ; 
and  I  will  drive  in  with  my  friends  to 
morrow.  I  mean  to  ask  a  night's  shelter  at 
the  vale ;  I  am  hardly  equal  to  the  ride." 

"  Let  me  go  to  town  and  fetch  out  a  car 
riage  for  you." 

"  Thank  you,  no.  I  cannot  go  back,  to 
night,  to  all  the  noise  and  glare  of  Newport. 
It  is  so  peaceful  here." 

"  You  have  not  inquired  whether  my  quest 
of  the  seaweed  was  successful.  Here  is  the 
little  crimson  ocean  flower." 

"  Thank  you  so  much ;  I  had  forgotten  all 
about  it.  That  is  a  beautiful  specimen.  Do 
you  feel  quite  yourself  again  ?  " 


128  A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

"  Yes.  It  was  awfully  soft  of  me  to  faint  in 
that  way ;  I  am  thoroughly  ashamed  of  my 
self.  Do  you  despise  me  for  it  ? " 

"  No.  After  you  had  saved  me  you  had  a 
right  to  be  terrified.  Had  you  been  fright 
ened  before,  I  should  not  have  been  here 
now.  Are  you  glad  you  saved  me  ? " 

"  Do  you  not  know  —  " 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course  I  know,"  said  the  girl 
hastily,  interrupting  his  vehemence ;  "  and  I 
am  glad,  too." 

She  turned  and  looked  at  the  place  where 
she  had  so  lately  stood  in  mortal  danger. 
Everything  was  peaceful  and  quiet  now. 
The  cool  plash  of  the  water  came  to  her 
ears,  and  the  tender  song  of  a  wild  bird  fell 
like  a  triumphant  hymn  of  praise  upon  the 
stillness  of  the  day. 

"  It  is  good  to  live,"  said  the  song  of  the 
bird. 

"  It  is  enough  to  be  a  little  part  of  such 
a  world,"  sighed  the  girl.  "  Why  cannot  we 
forget  ourselves  and  our  petty  ambitions, 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  129 

our  loves  and  our  hates,  in  the  peace  of  all 
this  beauty  ? " 

She  spoke  half  to  herself  and  half-  to  the 
bird.  Larkington  knew  that  he  was  not  ad 
dressed.  He  felt  a  terrible  sense  of  loneli 
ness.  He  was  with  the  woman  he  loved, 
close  at  her  side.  He  had  carried  her  in  his 
arms  but  now,  and  yet  she  was  farther  from 
him  at  that  moment  than  she  had  ever 
seemed  before. 

With  the  feeling  of  this  distance  there 
came  to  him  a  great  pain  unknown  before. 
What  it  meant  he  could  not  know.  If  one 
had  told  him,  he  could  not  have  understood 
the  words.  He  suffered  dumbly,  ignorantly, 
with  a  new  sense  of  his  capacity  for  suffer 
ing. 

Poor  wretch  !  Miserable  sham,  impostor, 
and  liar, — false  to  all  men  and  women,  false 
to  himself;  in  that  keen  suffering  awoke 
within  him  the  soul  which  had  till  now 
slept. 


130  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE  morning  of  the  great  Newport  picnic 
dawned  bright  and  clear,  and  the  hearts  of 
all  the  happy  people  who  were  privileged  to 
join  the  exclusive  and  aristocratic  affair  were 
much  lighter  than  they  had  been  on  the  pre 
vious  evening,  when  the  weather  looked  very 
dubious.  No  heart  so  light,  though,  as  that 
of  Mr.  Gray  Grosvenor,  the  prime  mover  in 
the  picnic,  —  the  man  in  whose  brain  the 
idea  had  at  first  originated,  broadened,  and 
finally  emerged  in  the  complete  and  perfect 
plan. 

Mr.  Gray  Grosvenor  was  a  very  prominent 
man  in  Newport  society,  —  more  prominent 
than  Mr.  Belhomme,  though  he  was  not 
nearly  so  rich.  He  was  more  courted  even 
than  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer,  though  he  "did 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  131 

not  entertain,"  and  her  hospitable  doors 
were  opened  every  day  in  the  week  to  some 
guest  or  guests. 

Larkington,  now  well  established  in  so 
ciety  by  his  month's  stay  in  Newport,  had 
quickly  seen  that  Gray  Grosvenor  was  a  man 
to  whom,  for  some  reason,  every  one  was 
extremely  deferential  and  polite.  He  was 
evidently  a  man  to  be  treated  with  great 
consideration  ;  and  the  Englishman  had 
taken  the  cue,  though  what  claims  this  gen 
tleman  had  to  an  over-punctilious  politeness 
from  society  he  had  been  at  a  loss  to  dis 
cover.  He  danced  wonderfully  well ;  that, 
of  course,  made  him  popular  with  the  ladies; 
but  then  there  were  others  who  tripped  as 
lightly  the  measures  of  Terpsichore,  and  had 
withal  figures  more  suited  to  the  graceful  waltz 
than  was  the  stout  and  roundabout  body  of 
Mr.  Gray  Grosvenor. 

Larkington  had  asked  Mrs.  Craig  confi 
dentially  to  tell  him  all  about  this  gentle 
man,  by  whom  he  had  been  considerably 


must  give  up  all  hopes  of  entering  the  inner 
circle  of  Hades,  —  for  which  read  society. 
He  is  the  man  who  can  cut  your  name  from 
the  list  of  a  subscription  ball,  can  keep  you 
out  of  any  club  he  belongs  to,  if  he  happens 
not  to  fancy  the  cut  of  your  dress-coat  or 
the  way  you  wear  your  moustache.  He 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  133 

holds,  beside  this,  another  position,  —  that 
of  a  sort  of  gentleman  caterer.  It  is  a  unique 
office,  I  think.  He  gets  up  all  the  assemblies, 
and  arranges  the  menu  of  the  supper,  as  well 
as  the  list  of  subscribers.  He  is  willing  to 
do  this  sort  of  work  for  society,  and  on  the 
whole  society  is  grateful  to  him,  as  no  one 
else  would  give  the  time,  pains,  and  trouble 
to  it.  Though  he  is  in  a  sense  the  servant 
of  society,  inasmuch  as  he  serves  it,  he  is  also 
its  ruler,  and  he  is  courted  from  fear,  if  from 
nothing  else,  like  the  French  king  with  the 
little  leaden  images  in  his  hat.  Gray  Gros- 
venor's  images  are  of  gold,  and  not  of  lead." 

"  One  sees  that  you  do  not  like  the  gentle 
man,  Mrs.  Craig?"  said  Larkington. 

"  Like  him  ?  Why  should  I  ?  Because  I 
come  from  Baltimore,  and  he  does  n't  happen 
to  know  anything  about  me,  he  leaves  me 
out  of  his  picnic.  I  not  only  dislike  him, 
but  I  have  been  praying  solemnly  for  the 
last  week  that  it  might  rain  on  the  day  fixed 
for  his  fete,  and  spoil  it  all." 


134  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

Count  Clawski,  who  was  in  these  days  the 
devoted  slave  of  the  pretty  Mrs.  Craig, 
joined  the  two,  who  were  sitting  where  we 
first  saw  them,  in  the  long  balcony  of  the 
Casino. 

"  You  are  speaking  of  the  picnic,  madam," 
said  the  diplomate,  whose  calm  and  punc 
tilious  manner  was  for  the  nonce  upset.  He 
looked  angry  and  excited.  "  Par  bleu,  I  will 
not  go,  if  it  rains  or  shines." 

"  I  heard  you  had  ordered  a  wonderful  vol- 
au-venl  at  Hartman's  for  your  contribution," 
said  Mrs.  Craig. 

"lie  asks  me,  this  man,"  continued  the 
Count,  notwithstanding  Mrs.  Craig's  re 
marks,  "  to  subscribe  for  his  picnic,  to  bring 
a  dish,  and  a  bottle  of  wine ;  and  when  I  say 
to  him,  *  Now,  I  will  a  lady  with  me  bring,' 
he  says,  *  Excuse  me,  I  must  ask  you  to  send 
her  name  in  for  the  approval  of  the  com 
mittee  !'  Committee  indeed  !  I  never  heard 
of  any  but  that  of  Mr.  Gray  Grosvenor  him 
self ;  it  is  to  me  an  insult.  Should  I  bring 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  135 

any  lady  that  he  or  his  committee  might  not 
be  proud  to  receive?  " 

Notwithstanding  the  prayers  of  Mrs.  Craig, 
the  day  of  the  picnic,  as  has  been  said, 
dawned  bright  and  clear. 

Gladys  -Carleton,  as  she  stood  for  a  mo 
ment  on  the  balcony  outside  of  her  room, 
looking  down  into  the  shrubberies,  smiled 
with  pleasure  at  the  splendid  mass  of  color 
which  lay  below  her.  The  rose  garden,  in 
its  full  blush  of  summer  loveliness,  was 
splendid  with  a  glory  of  new-bloomed  roses, 
whose  petals  were  fast  unfolding  to  the 
ardent  gaze  of  their  great  golden  lover,  the 
sun.  It  was  very  early  for  Gladys  to  be 
about,  scarcely  seven  o'clock,  but  she  had 
not  slept  very  well,  and  so,  throwing  a  loose 
wrapper  about  her,  she  had  stepped  out  upon 
her  little  balcony  and  stood  looking  out  on 
the  fresh  beauty  of  the  earth. 

For  once  she  was  not  thinking  of  herself 
or  her  own  beauty,  which  was,  perhaps  for 
that  very  reason,  the  fairest  thing  in  all  the 
bright  picture. 


136  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

Over  across  the  rose-beds  where  the  flowers 
nodded  a  gay  good-morning  to  her,  stretched 
the  green  lawn,  which  ran  sloping  down  to 
the  cliffs,  at  whose  foot  the  waves  murmured 
with  a  kindly  melody. 

No  other  sound  was  in  the  land,  and  in 
the  sea  no  motion  save  for  the  white  arms  of 
a  youth  who  was  swimming  by  leisurely,  and 
who  slackened  his  strokes  and  looked  up  at 
the  balcony,  which  showed  him  a  woman 
who  was  young  and  graceful,  the  distance 
not  allowing  him  to  guess  more. 

Gladys  looked  at  the  swimmer,  and  thought 
how  graceful  were  his  motions,  and  how 
much  the  boyish  head  of  gold  hair  and  the 
white,  supple,  strong  limbs,  shining  through 
the  green  waters,  added  to  the  scene.  It 
brought  human  life  into  what  had  been  be 
fore  but  an  empty  background ;  it  made  her 
feel  that  of  all  the  grand  things  in  the  world, 
man  may  be  the  grandest.  Why  did  the 
face  of  Charles  Farwell  seem  to  look  at  her 
from  the  green  waves  ?  If  it  had  been 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  137 

Farwell  she  could  not  have  seen  him,  and 
she  knew  him  to  be  a  thousand  miles  away. 
And  yet,  when  the  youth  out  there,  lying  in 
the  cool  water,  raised  one  arm  and  waved  a 
greeting  to  her,  she  answered  it  involuntarily, 
and  then,  remembering  for  the  first  moment 
herself,  standing  out  in  the  broad  daylight  in 
her  wrapper,  her  hair  streaming  about  her 
shoulders,  her  little  rosy  feet  bare,  she  gave 
a  startled  cry  and  sprang  back  into  her  room, 
blushing  hotly  though  no  one  was  there  to 
see. 

Her  maid  came  to  her  in  half  an  hour, 
bringing  the  morning  mail.  She  was  sur 
prised  to  see  that  one  of  the  letters  bore  the 
handwriting  of  her  cousin,  Amelia  Carleton, 
who  was  still  at  Lenox.  The  first  part  of 
the  letter  she  glanced  through  carelessly,  but 
the  last  paragraph  fixed  her  attention;  she 
read  it  slowly,  and  afterwards  sat  looking  at 
it  abstractedly. 

"  I    hear    that    your   last  conquest  is  the  good- 
looking  Englishman  we  met  driving  that  day.     I 


138  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

have  asked  Lady  Carew,  who  is  staying  here,  all 
about  him.  He  is  the  son  of  Lord  Lucre,  she  tells 
me  ;  she  knows  his  family  well.  It  is,  as  you  know, 
an  excellent  one  in  point  of  position  ;  and  this 
young  man  is  better  off  than  most  younger  sons, 
for  he  has  his  mother's  whole  fortune,  which  is 
something  very  handsome.  The  elder  brother  has 
epilepsy,  will  never  marry,  and  your  friend  is  sure 
sooner  or  later  to  succeed  to  the  title  and  estates. 
Lady  Carew  says  it  will  probably  be  sooner,  for 
his  brother  is  not  expected  to  live  long.  Now,  if 
things  have  gone  as  far  as  I  suppose  they  have,  my 
solemn  advice  to  you,  Gladys,  is  to  marry  Mr. 
Larkington.  He  is  the  sort  of  man  best  calcu 
lated  to  make  you  happy,  as  he  brings  all  the 
things  you  need  most,  —  money,  an  assured  posi 
tion,  and  in  time  a  title.  My  dear,  take  the  advice 
of  a  lonely  woman,  an  old  maid,  and  do  not  hesi 
tate.  You  have  grown,  as  I  did  before  you,  too 
difficile.  It  is  the  curse  of  American  girls  with 
beauty  or  money,  that  they  have  so  many  chances 
to  marry.  They  discard  this  one  for  one  fault, 
that  one  because  he  lacks  some  certain  virtue  ;  in 
fine,  they  end  by  expecting  to  find  a  paragon, 
which  shall  unite  all  the  virtues  and  be  without 
any  of  the  faults  of  manhood.  Of  course  they 
don't  find  him,  and  they  remain  unmarried  and 


A  NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  139 

unhappy.  I  am  opening  my  heart  to  you,  child, 
though  it  hurts  me  more  than  you  can  guess,  be 
cause  I  would  warn  you  from  the  mistake  which 
has  made  my  life  cold  and  empty,  my  nature  hard 
and  the  world  says  selfish.  You  know  I  always  am 
ready  to  keep  my  promise  of  giving  you  the  trous 
seau  and  the  wedding.  I  should  so  like  to  give 
a  house-warming  and  wedding  at  once.  The 
house  will  be  ready  in  a  fortnight,  when  I  shall 
take  possession  of  it." 

This  letter  seemed  to  change  the  face  of 
nature  to  Gladys.  She  saw  no  beauty  now 
in  sea  or  sky,  the  sunshine  even  seemed  to 
have  grown  cold,  and  she  began  to  dress 
slowly  and  absently. 

She  sat  down  at  her  toilette  glass,,  placed 
where  the  most  searching  light  fell  upon  it, 
and,  leaning  her  head  upon  her  hand,  pro 
ceeded  to  study  with  great  care  the  image 
which  the  faithful  mirror  showed  her.  She 
looked  older,  ten  years  older,  than  she  had 
done  when  she  stood  on  the  balcony  with  a 
smile  on  her  lips.  The  thought  which  drew 
hard  lines  about  her  mouth,  and  marked  her 


140  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

forehead  with  two  strait  dints,  had  come  only 
with  her  cousin's  letter.  She  took  her  silver 
comb  (she  would  have  liked  a  golden  one) 
and  parted  the  thick  soft  hair  on  her  left 
temple.  Yes,  there  they  were,  those  first 
terrible  finger-marks  of  time.  White  hairs  — 
a  few,  half  a  dozen,  perhaps  —  just  in  this 
spot  flecked  the  dusky  mass  of  hair.  No  one 
knew  of  their  existence  but  Gladys  and  her 
maid.  The  Abigail  assured  her  that  they 
were  the  result  of  some  knock  she  must  have 
given  her  head,  for  only  in  this  spot  was 
there  one  to  be  found ;  but  Gladys  refused 
to  console  herself  with  this  hypothesis,  and 
accepted  the  warning  which  they  gave  her  of 
the  instability  of  beauty  and  the  flight  of 
time. 

For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  she  sat  motion 
less,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  her  own  shadow, 
and  in  that  space  she  reviewed  all  her  past, 
looked  her  present  in  the  face,  and  weighed 
the  possibilities  of  the  future,  quietly,  coolly, 
and  methodically.  She  put  aside  the  rose- 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  141 

colored  illusions  in  which  women  wrap  their 
thoughts  of  themselves  to  their  very  selves, 
and  looked,  for  once  in  her  life,  at  the  hard 
plain  facts  of  her  existence. 

She  had  passed  her  first  youth,  girlhood 
was  behind  her,  and  at  twenty-five  she  was  a 
woman.  Her  beauty  was  still  at  its  height, 
but  it  must  wane,  and  the  waning  must 
begin  before  long.  She  had  not  so  many 
chances  open  to  her  of  changing  her  name 
as  she  had  had  last  year,  and  every  twelve 
months  the  chances  would  grow  less  and 
less.  She  had  that  very  week  walked  as  a 
bridesmaid  before  a  bride  whose  bridegroom, 
a  year  previous,  had  declared  himself  desolate 
and  broken-hearted  at  her  refusal  of  his  suit. 
He  had  consoled  himself  in  so  short  a  time 
with  a  pretty  chit  of  eighteen,  with  pale, 
pleading  blue  eyes,  and  no  figure  at  all  ! 
The  constancy  of  man  !  But  there  was  Cid. 
Did  he  still  love  her?  She  doubted  it.  He 
had  never  told  her  so  since  her  return  from 
Europe,  though  he  had  had  many  chances 


142  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

to  do  so.  Then  his  abrupt  departure  from 
Newport  without  one  word  of  farewell,  be 
yond  the  Ait,  revoir  written  on  the  card 
which  came  with  a  bunch  of  red  roses.  Did 
not  that  imply  that  he  did  not  wish  to  see 
anything  more  of  her  ?  Perhaps  he  had 
seen  how  things  would  go  between  herself 
and  Larkington,  and  wished  to  prove  that  he 
did  not  consider  himself  as  a  pretendant  for 
her  hand,  so  left  the  ground  clear  for  the 
new  suitor.  It  seemed  more  than  likely. 
It  was  rather  unkind  of  Cid,  though ;  but 
did  she  deserve  anything  better  from  him  ? 
She  grew  quite  red  as  she  asked  herself  the 
question.  And  on  seeing  the  flush  mount 
to  her  forehead  in  the  mirror,  she  sprang  to 
her  feet,  angry  and  defiant,  at  war  with 
herself,  and  with  a  bitter  cry  against  the 
cruelty  of  fate,  in  her  heart. 

She  dressed  herself  not  the  less  with  great 
care,  and  chose  the  dark  blue  gown  in  which 
Larkington  had  first  seen  her  at  the  Casino, 
and  which  he  preferred  to  any  other  of  her 


A   NEWPORT' AQUARELLE.  143 

dresses.  She  was  going  to  the  picnic,  and 
had  half  promised  to  drive  out  with  the 
Englishman.  She  knew,  with  the  unfailing 
instinct  of  a  woman,  that  if  she  drove  with 
him  to-day,  she  would  be  asked  the  most 
serious  question  which  man  can  put  to 
woman.  For  a  week  past  he  had  tried  to 
see  her  alone,  he  had  sought  for  an  opportu 
nity  to  speak  the  words  which  she  was  not 
ready  to  hear,  and  she  had  with  a  hundred 
artifices,  so  skilful  that  he  had  not  perceived 
them,  put  off  the  decisive  moment. 

She  breakfasted,  or  made  a  pretence  of  so 
doing,  with  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer  in  that  good 
lady's  boudoir,  —  a  charming  little  room, 
hung  in  sea-green  silk,  and  furnished  in 
veritable  antique  carved  wood. 

As  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer  sat  in  a  high-backed 
chair,  pouring  tea  from  a  classic  urn,  a  fear 
ful  and  wonderful  pyramid  of  laces  and  rib 
bons  placed  on  the  summit  of  her  poll, 
Gladys  looked  at  her  and  sighed  deeply. 
This,  then,  was  the  end  of  it  all.  The  kind 


144  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

soul  who  sat  opposite  her  had  been  a  beauty, 
too,  in  her  day,  but  what  trace  was  left 
of  her  lost  graces !  She  sighed  again,  at 
which  unusual  sound  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer  put 
down  her  teacup  and,  looking  searchingly 
at  Gladys,  said  slowly  and  solemnly, — 

"My  dear,  it  is  my  private  opinion  that 
you  are  in  love." 

Gladys  laughed.  "  I  wish  I  were,"  she 
cried  half  bitterly,  half  in  jest.  "  Like  Pa 
tience,  I  am  quite  ignorant  of  the  sensation 
of  the  tender  passion.  I  have  never  been 
in  love." 

"That  is  nonsense,  my  dear;  however,  it 
is  a  nonsense  that  all  girls  talk,  and  I  sup 
pose  I  can't  expect  you  to  be  wiser  than 
your  kind.  But  seriously,  my  child,  are  you 
not  thinking  a  good  deal  about  somebody  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  that  somebody  is  myself." 

"  Of  course  it  is  always  so  with  a  girl 
who  has  no  business  to  be  a  girl  any  longer. 
I  have  had  something  of  your  experience, 
Gladys,  and  my  advice  ought  not  to  be  value- 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  145 

less  to  you.  I  did  not  marry  until  I  was  a 
year  or  two  older  than  you,  and  was  heartily 
sick  of  myself,  and  of  thinking  about  myself, 
and  of  all  the  shadowy  joys  and  triumphs 
I  was  supposed  to  enjoy.  Now,  you  have  a 
heart,  and  were  meant  to  love  (as  was  I) 
something  and  somebody  besides  yourself. 
Suppose  the  man  whom  you  marry  is  not 
your  young  ideal ;  what  of  that  ?  All  men 
are  troublesome  comforts,  but  it 's  a  great 
thing  to  have  a  companion  of  your  own 
time,  whose  interests  are  one  with  your  own, 
and  who  will  go  with  you  through  life.  My 
dear,  it  is  very  dreary  to  sit  over  the  embers 
alone.  Husbands  are  at  best  a  good  deal 
of  a  trial,  but  then  the  compensation  comes 
in  one's  children.  I  am  a  woman  who  has, 
as  you  know,  experienced  a  great  deal  and 
enjoyed  many  things,  but  the  comfort  and 
pleasure  I  have  had  in  my  boys  outweighs 
all  the  rest  of  the  goods  of  my  life  beyond 
comparison.  But  I  suppose  you  can't  under 
stand  that." 

s 

10 


146  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

Gladys  had  not  sat  patiently  during  this 
homily,  but  had  moved  uneasily  about  the 
room,  looking  first  out  of  the  window  and 
then  into  the  cream  jug  on  the  table,  as  if 
to  find  some  help  there.  Everybody  seemed 
to  be  against  her  and  in  league  with  Lark- 
ington,  for  she  knew  perfectly  well  to  what 
all  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer  had  said  pointed.  Even 
Charlie,  —  his  absence  from  Newport  was  in 
itself  a  sanction  to  her  encouragement  of 
Larkington. 

A  servant  entered,  bringing  a  great  bunch 
of  deep  gold  yellow  roses  for  Miss  Carleton, 
and  a  note  in  an  already  familiar  hand.  It 
was  from  Larkington,  asking  her  if  she 
would  drive  with  him  to  the  picnic.  She 
stood  still  and  silent  for  one  awful  moment, 
during  which  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  whole 
of  her  life  hung  in  the  balance.  Should  she 
go,  or  not?  She  sat  down  at  the  writing- 
desk,  took  up  a  quill,  examined  its  point 
carefully,  took  out  a  sheet  of  paper,  dated  it, 
wrote,  "  Dear  Mr.  Larkington,"  and  had  not 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  147 

yet  decided  whether  the  next  phrase  should 
be  one  of  refusal  or  acceptance. 

The  letter  meant  so  much  more  than  a 
mere  invitation  to  drive ;  if  she  accepted  it, 
she  knew  the  results.  Could  she?  The  for 
bidding  face  of  Amelia  Carleton,  once  as 
handsome  and  attractive  as  her  own,  rose 
before  her,  hard,  unyielding,  frozen,  and  ex 
pressionless  !  "  I  will  go  with  pleasure,"  were 
the  words  she  wrote,  and,  signing  herself  as 
"  Cordially  yours,"  she  despatched  the  note, 
and  then,  going  to  the  glass,  spent  the  next 
ten  minutes  in  fastening  the  breast-knot  of 
roses  which  Larkington  had  sent  her,  over 
her  slow-beating  heart. 

The  pin  with  which  she  fastened  the  roses 
she  noticed  was  one  of  Herr  Goldzchink's 
minor  presents,  which,  when  the  others  had 
been  sent  back  to  her  discarded  German 
lover,  had  been  overlooked,  and  had  only 
been  discovered  the  week  before  in  a  drawer 
of  her  jewel-case. 

On  the  hand  which  held  the  roses  to  her 


148  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

breast  was  one  small  old  ring.  It  was  of 
very  little  value,  and  had  cost  Charles  Far- 
well  the  first  score  of  dollars  he  had  earned, 
all  those  years  ago.  She  smiled  a  little  sadly 
as  she  looked  at  the  ring,  and  then  kissed  it 
and  slipped  it  off  from  her  finger. 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  149 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

MR.  LARKINGTON  stood  looking  anxiously 
from  his  window,  on  the  morning  of  the  all- 
important  day  of  Mr.  Gray  Grosvenor's  pic 
nic.  That  gentleman  himself,  passing  by 
and  catching  a  glimpse  of  Larkington's  rather 
gloomy  face,  nodded  reassuringly  to  him,  as 
if  to  say  that  the  little  cloud  which  had  just 
floated  before  the  face  of  the  sun  did  not 
mean  anything.  The  weather  would  not 
think  of  doing  so  ill-judged  a  thing  as  to 
interfere  with  one  of  Mr.  Gray  Grosvenor's 
fetes.  So  on  passed  the  great  man,  wrapped 
in  a  mysterious  vision  of  the  new  mode  of 
cooking  macaroni  with  madeira  sauce,  and 
the  effect  it  would  have  upon  the  experienced 
palates  of  Mr.  Belhomme  and  Mrs.  Fallow- 
Deer. 


ISO  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

Larkington's  anxiety  had  no  reference  to 
the  weather,  or  to  the  prospects  of  the  picnic, 
but  was  centred  in  the  small  and  dainty  billet 
which  his  quick  eye  already  detected  in  the 
hand  of  Stirrups,  who  appeared  on  the  hori 
zon,  bearing  down  for  the  hotel. 

Stirrups,  a  hideous  little  gnome  of  a  groom, 
was  dressed  in  a  neat  and  precise  livery,  and 
walked  gravely  and  composedly  up  to  the  side 
entrance  of  the  hotel,  giving  a  glance  at  the 
small  window  in  the  third  story  where  he  had 
rightly  expected  to  see  Larkington's  face. 

He  passed  through  the  hall  and  up  the 
first  flight  of  stairs  with  the  slow  and  conde 
scending  step  which  these  gentlemen  of  the 
rumble  affect  when  they  are  obliged  to  touch 
the  vulgar  earth  with  their  feet,  being  used  to 
be  carried  by  the  swiftest  steeds  and  driven 
by  the  fairest  of  ladies.  In  the  upper  corri 
dor  he  saw  no  one,  nor  on  the  stairs  above 
or  below,  and  at  once,  losing  the  grand  air 
and  his  slow  step,  he  ran  up  the  next  two 
flights,  taking  three  steps  at  a  time,  and 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  151 

rushed,  without  knocking,  into  his  master's 
apartment.  Breathless  he  thrust  the  letter 
into  his  hand,  and  stood  panting,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  Larkington's  face. 

The  master,  without  noticing  the  uncere 
monious  entrance  of  the  man,  tore  open  the 
note,  glanced  at  its  contents,  and,  flushing 
with  what  he  read,  cried  aloud,  — 

"  It  's  all  right,  Stirrups  !  By  Jove  !  I  was 

nervous,  though.  What  the kept  you 

such  a  time  ?  '  Without  waiting  for  an 
answer,  Larkington  continued :  "  Now  we 
have  n't  more  than  time.  I  must  be  there  at 
twelve  o'clock.  Bring  the  trap  up  and  look 
sharp.  Remember  you  are  to  be  missing 
when  the  break-up  comes.  I  shall  stay  till 
the  last." 

Stirrups  did  "look  sharp,"  and  at  twelve 
o'clock  precisely  the  wheels  of  Mr.  Larking 
ton's  dogcart  crunched  along  the  gravel 
driveway  which  led  to  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer's 
house.  Gladys  heard  the  sound  and  it  made 
her  shiver. 


152  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

"  '  Hear  it  not,  Duncan  ;  for  it  is  a  knell 
That  summons  thee  to  heaven  or  to .' 

Not  a  very  pretty  place  to  talk  about,"  she 
cried,  as  she  rose  slowly  from  her  seat  in 
Mrs.  Fallow-Deer's  morning-room. 

"  What  an  odd  girl  you  are,  Gladys  !  Well, 
good-by.  I  shall  be  out,  tell  Gray  Grosvenor, 
by  half-past  one.  Make  him  wait  luncheon 
till  I  come.  Don't  forget  your  dish  of  cro 
quettes,  nor  the  champagne ;  they  are  all 
packed  in  a  basket  in  the  hall.  Are  you 
warmly  enough  dressed,  child?  How  pale 
you  look  !  Give  your  cheeks  a  little  rub,  so  ! 
That  's  better.  Now  trot  along,  and  remem 
ber  what  I  said  to  you  at  breakfast." 

Gladys  did  look  pale,  and  listless  too,  as 
she  stepped  into  the  dogcart,  steadied  by  Mr. 
Larkington's  hand  ;  but  he  thought  she  never 
before  had  looked  so  lovely.  There  was  a 
shadow  in  the  eyes,  which  were  usually  so 
open  and  clear,  without  dissimulation  or 
consciousness. 

Larkington  was  not  quite  himself  either, 


A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  153 

and  the  two  people,  who  usually  chatted  like 
magpies  on  the  hundred  light  topics  which 
are  the  straws  on  which  society  conversations 
are  kept  afloat,  hardly  spoke  during  the  drive 
to  the  picnic  ground. 

Stirrups,  sitting  behind  with  folded  arms 
and  stony  face,  seemed  to  feel  the  constraint 
of  his  betters,  which  he  himself  shared. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  Glen,  the  spot 
chosen  for  the  picnic,  they  encountered  Mr. 
Gray  Grosvenor,  who  welcomed  them  cor 
dially  but  hurriedly.  He  was  one  of  those 
hosts  who  cannot  give  themselves  time  to 
welcome  quietly  the  guests  who  have  arrived, 
but  whose  eyes  and  thoughts  are  forever  wan 
dering  to  the  next  comers,  who  may  be  of 
more  importance  than  the  ones  whom  he  is  at 
that  moment  greeting. 

"Ah,  how  de  doo,  Miss  Gladys?  Ah, 
urn,  um,  Larkington,  delighted  to  see  you. 
Basket  ?  oh  yes,  um,  yes,  thanks,  yes ;  give 
it  to  the  waiter.  Good  of  you,  I  'm  sure. 
Yes,  yes,  you  '11  find  my  sister  in  the  Glen. 


154  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE, 

Wait  for  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer  ?  oh,  um,  yes,  yes, 
of  course,  of  course."  And  he  turned  to 
speak  to  some  later  arrivals. 

Larkington  drove  down  the  picturesque 
road  which  hangs  over  a  miniature  precipice, 
with  a  miniature  stream  at  the  bottom,  and 
a  large  mill  and  mill-wheel,  "  as  romantic  in 
its  appearance  as  the  one  used  in  Sonnam- 
bula  at  Her  Majesty's,"  so  Larkington  said. 

The  road  leads  into  a  wide,  open  space, 
with  enough  shade  trees  to  insure  coolness, 
but  without  a  trace  of  dampness.  Long 
tables  were  spread  beneath  the  tall  oaks,  and 
dainties  of  every  kind  loaded  the  boards. 

The  little  brook  ran  babbling  merrily  by 
on  one  side,  but  its  melody  was  quickly 
drowned  in  the  loud  strains  of  an  orchestra, 
hidden  by  a  group  of  thick  palm-trees, 
brought  out  from  town  for  the  occasion.  A 
dancing  pavilion  with  a  smooth  floor  had 
been  built  up  during  the  previous  day  and 
night,  and  was  gayly  decorated  with  flags, 
Japanese  lanterns,  fans,  and  umbrellas. 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  155 

The  Glen  was  in  holiday  dress,  tricked  out 
with  every  art  of  the  decorator  and  florist. 
The  lovely  green  turf,  with  its  sprinkling  of 
fragrant  pine-needles,  might  not  touch  the 
silken-clad  feet  of  the  ladies,  though,  and 
rich  rugs  were  spread  about  to  keep  the  deli 
cate  shoes  from  contact  with  mother  earth's 
fairest  carpet.  The  very  stems  of  the  dig 
nified  oak-trees  were  garlanded  with  colored 
streamers.  They  looked  abashed  at  all  these 
trappings,  the  poor  country  trees,  and  rustled 
uncomfortably  at  the  incongruity  of  their 
appearance. 

Two  great  elm-trees  stand  side  by  side  at 
the  lower  part  of  the  Glen,  fair  enough  to  be 
the  scene  of  the  revels  of  the  fairy  queen, 
and  between  their  straight  trunks  one  can 
look  out  and  see  the  river,  or  arm  of  the  sea, 
which  washes  the  pebbly  shore.  But  the 
simplicity  of  the  view  and  its  quiet  beauty 
had  evidently  annoyed  the  perverted  taste 
of  Mr.  Gray  Grosvenor  or  his  assistants, 
and  an  arch  of  sunflowers  spanned  the 


156  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

distance  which  intervened  between  the  two 
great  trees,  so  that  even  that  view  was  spoiled 
to  the  few  among  the  company  who  knew 
and  loved  the  Glen  in  its  wild  and  natural 
beauty. 

Among  those  few  persons  who  were  not 
so  loud  in  praises  of  the  "  beautiful  decora 
tions"  as  the  rest  of  the  company  were  Mrs. 
Craig  and  Count  Clawski !  How  they  came 
there,  what  power  had  been  brought  to  bear 
on  Gray  Grosvenor  to  induce  him  at  the 
eleventh  hour  to  revoke  his  decision  to  leave 
out  the  pretty  little  Baltimorean,  Gladys  was 
not  able  to  discover.  But  there  she  was,  all 
smiles  and  roses  and  dimples,  as  pretty  a 
creature  in  her  rainbow  draperies  as  was  to 
be  seen  on  that  bright  summer  morning. 

The  Count,  who  was  something  of  an  art 
ist,  was  really  a  good  deal  disturbed  by  the 
sunflowers  and  Japanese  decorative  knick- 
knacks,  which  he  affirmed  would  spoil  his 
appetite. 

Mrs.  Craig,  who  in  heart   had   loved   the 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  157 

whole  Jardin  Mabille  appearance  of  the  place, 
quickly  took  the  cue  from  him,  and  said, 
sotto  voce,  to  Gladys,  — 

"  Shocking  bad  taste ;  don't  you  think  so, 
dear?" 

"  I  had  not  thought  about  it,"  said  Gladys, 
frankly.  "  There  is  perhaps  a  little  too  much 
of  it,  but  you  know  I  am  rather  barbaric  in 
my  taste  and  like  all  sorts  of  gay-colored 
things." 

The  majority  of  the  guests  were  of  Gladys's 
opinion,  and  on  the  arrival  of  Mrs.  Fallow- 
Deer  the  whole  company  —  some  sixty  souls 
—  sat  down  to  meat  in  high  spirits  and  with 
excellent  appetites.  Meat,  did  I  say?  Ay, 
and  to  fish  of  every  sort,  and  game,  —  all  that 
there  was  in  or  out  of  season,  —  shell  fish, 
too,  from  the  beatific  little  neck  clam  to  the 
rubicund  lobster,  pates  and  game  pies,  galan 
tines  and  roast  fowls,  Mayonnaises,  Lyon- 
naises,  fryoriaiseys,  mushrooms,  jellies,  ices, 
blanc-manges,  fruits,  cakes,  wines,  cordials, 
and  finally,  by  way  of  a  saving  grace,  coffee. 


158  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

"  I  notice  that  the  Americans  have  the 
largest  appetites  and  the  worst  digestions  of 
any  people  in  the  world,"  said  Count  Clawski 
to  his  left-hand  neighbor,  Gladys  Carleton. 

The  Count's  appetite  was  missing  on  this 
festive  occasion,  and  it  was  owing  to  this  fact 
that  he  spoke  so  bitterly,  and  thought  so  bit 
terly  too,  of  the  dinner  last  night  at  Mrs. 
Craig's,  where  he  had  overeaten  himself. 
However,  his  ill  temper  was  too  small  a 
drop  of  gall  in  the  cup  of  jollity  of  the  com 
pany  to  have  any  noticeable  effect,  and  the 
luncheon  went  off  as  gayly  as  possible. 

Mr.  Belhomme  and  Mr.  Gray  Grosvenor 
toasted  each  other,  and  were  more  friendly 
than  they  had  been  since  their  memorable 
dispute  over  the  best  method  of  serving 
chicken  livers,  which  had  interrupted  for 
two  years  a  friendship  of  a  lifetime.  Society 
agreed  that  it  was  better  that  they  did  make 
the  matter  up,  for  it  would  be  difficult  to  de 
cide  which  of  the  two  gourmets  was  the  better 
authority  on  chicken  livers,  as  they  both  had 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  159 

every  reason  to  consider  themselves  connois 
seurs  in  this  particular  dish. 

Mrs.  Fallow-Deer  tasted  of  nearly  every 
dish,  and  grew  rosier  and  jollier  at  every 
course. 

Of  all  the  guests  there  gathered,  two  only 
seemed  a  little  out  of  the  general  tone  of 
mirth  and  jollity,  and  these  two  were  the 
very  ones  in  whom  we  have  the  most  inter 
est.  Gladys  Carleton  was  inclined  to  be 
quiet  and  distraite,  eating  little,  and  that 
little  with  nervous  haste.  Larkington's  ap 
petite  was  not  so  voracious  as  it  might  have 
been,  considering  the  fact  that  for  the  last 
week  he  had  breakfasted  on  a  roll  from  the 
bake-shop  brought  in  surreptitiously  by  Stir 
rups,  and  a  cup  of  tea  made  over  the  gas- 
burner  by  that  same  devoted  individual,  who, 
as  financial  affairs  grew  darker  for  his  master, 
became  more  and  more  familiar  with  him, 
and  comforted  by  a  touching  devotion  the 
man  to  whom  he  was  loyally  attached. 

The  very  rolls  for  the  morning's  scanty 


160  A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

meal  were  bought  with  the  gratuities  which 
Stirrups  had  received  from  various  of  his 
master's  friends,  in  compensation  for  some 
slight  services.  The  cigar  which  Larkington 
had  smoked  on  the  morning  of  the  picnic 
had  been  given  to  Stirrups  by  Mr.  Belhomme, 
a  week  before,  when  he  had  taken  a  stone 
from  the  hoof  of  that  gentleman's  horse. 
The  groom,  foreseeing  the  not  unprecedented 
state  of  affairs  which  was  approaching,  had 
put  by  the  fragrant  Havana,  and  on  the 
morning  of  the  memorable  picnic  had  laid 
it  beside  Larkington's  plate  at  his  frugal 
breakfast. 

If  the  master  did  not  make  a  good  lunch 
eon,  the  man,  with  glistening  eyes,  surveyed 
the  luxuriously  spread  tables,  and  chose  the 
various  dishes  which  he  would  attack  vigor 
ously,  when  the  time  should  come  for  him 
and  his  fellows  to  gather  up  the  fragments 
of  the  feast. 

At  last  —  it  seemed  to  the  hungry  Stir 
rups  a  very  long  luncheon  —  Mr.  Gray  Gros- 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  l6l 

venor  rose  from  his  chair,  and  the  worshipful 
company  of  the  elect  had  finished  their  mid 
day  repast,  whose  chief  and  greatest  charm 
had  been  that  it  had  been  eaten  beneath  the 
canopy  of  God's  blue  sky,  between  the  walls 
of  living  green,  and  in  the  pure  air,  sweet 
with  the  stacks  of  new-mown  grass  and  clover 
in  the  field  hard  by. 

The  sunflowers  in  stiff  florist's  garlands, 
the  colored  paper  gewgaws,  were,  to  an  over 
sensitive  mind,  a  discord  ;  but  few  among 
the  guests  detected  the  inharmoniousness 
of  trimming,  with  art  intended  to  be  decora 
tive,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  bits  of  nature 
in  the  idyllic  island.  And  there  was  not  one 
among  them  who  was  not  made  the  better, 
the  more  kindly,  by  that  day  passed  among 
the  ferns  and  sweet-briers  of  Glen  Anna. 

The  dance  in  the  pavilion  was  rather  a 
failure.  Somehow,  the  incongruity  of  the 
little  stiff  town  bouquets  and  the  flimsy 
favors  seemed  to  strike  most  of  the  com 
pany,  and  the  cotillon  only  included  the  army 


ir 


1 62  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

of  veteran  waltzers,  grown  old  in  the  practice 
of  their  favorite  step,  of  whom  Gray  Grosve- 
nor  was  the  major-general. 

The  young  people  wandered  off  in  groups, 
some  of  them  climbing  the  hill  to  get  a 
wider  view.  Others  explored  the  damp  and 
mildewed  granaries  of  the  old  mill,  while 
all  to  whom  the  seaboard  was  native  were 
drawn  to  the  beach,  where  the  wavelets  gently 
lapped  the  stony  shore. 

At  the  back  of  the  narrow  beach  rises  a 
bank  on  which  some  charitable  person  has 
placed  a  bench  beneath  the  shadow  of  a 
group  of  heavy  shade  trees.  On  this  bench 
Gladys  and  Larkington  seated  themselves, 
and  the  girl,  collecting  a  heap  of  flat  pebbles 
at  her  feet,  tried  to  skip  them  across  the 
water. 

Larkington  watched  her  as  she  rose  and 
stood,  intent  on  making  her  pebbles  skip 
three  times ;  she  was  so  willowy  and  grace 
ful,  standing  just  beside  him,  touching  him 
with  her  dress,  quite  within  his  reach,  that 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  163 

he  longed  to  stretch  out  his  arms  and  clasp 
the  round  waist,  the  graceful  shoulders,  the 
charms  which  every  line  of  the  dark  blue 
dress  outlined  or  concealed. 

It  would  be  so  much  easier,  so  much  more 
natural,  to  ask  her  then  the  question  which 
he  knew  he  must  that  day  ask  her,  when  she 
could  guess,  from  the  beating  of  his  heart, 
the  meaning:  of  the  words  which  mi^ht  come 

O  «D 

incoherently ;  if  he  could  but  once  touch  her 
lips  with  his  own,  the  frosty  spell  that  held 
him  silent  would  be  broken  and  he  could 
give  words  to  the  feelings  which  troubled 
him.  If  he  only  dared  —  they  were  alone  — 
why  not  ?  Why  should  he  not  woo  her  as  he 
had  the  flaxen-haired  German  girl  who  now 
loved  him  as  she  had  ever  since  the  day 
when  they  had  first  kissed  in  the  shadow 
of  the  Black  Forest.  Poor  Frieda  !  why 
should  he  remember  her,  so  long  since  de 
serted,  on  this  splendid  day,  when  he  sat  at 
the  feet  of  another  woman  whom  he  loved 
with  the  full  force  of  his  being  ? 


164  A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

The  chill  of  the  reminiscence,  the  cool  look 
in  the  eyes  of  Gladys  Carleton  as  she  stooped 
to  pick  up  another  pebble,  arrested  his 
arms  stretched  impulsively  toward  her.  He 
altered  his  attitude  rather  clumsily,  and 
sprang  to  his  feet  as  if  the  gesture  which  she 
had  seen  had  been  only  an  effort  to  steady 
himself  in  rising. 

o 

But  Gladys  had  both  seen  and  understood 
it,  and  after  making  a  last  and  most  success 
ful  toss  of  her  biggest  stone,  she  said,  — 

"  I  think  we  had  better  go  back  now ;  don't 
you  ? " 

As  they  rejoined  the  party,  the  band  was 
striking  up  the  music  for  a  Virginia  reel. 
The  long  lines  were  formed  upon  the  green 
sward,  and  were  headed  by  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer 
and  Mr.  Gray  Grosvenor. 

"  Stand  at  the  foot,  Miss  Gladys  and  Lark- 
ington  !  "  cried  the  light-footed  and  lighter- 
witted  host.  "  Now  then,  off  we  go  !" 

And  off  they  did  go  at  a  great  pace,  Mrs. 
Fallow-Deer  dancing  to  Larkington,  and  Mr. 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  165 

Gray  Grosvenor  bowing  to  Gladys.  Down 
the  long  row  of  dancers  that  intervened  be 
tween  the  head  and  the  foot,  tripped  the 
young-hearted  matron  and  bobbed  a  courtesy, 
back  again,  and  down  once  more  to  turn, 
giving  the  right  hand,  then  to  favor  Larking- 
ton  with  the  left.  Then  both  pudgy  hands 
were  offered  to  the  long-limbed  Englishman, 
who  could  shake  a  foot  in  the  reel  with  the 
best  of  them.  Her  rotund  back  contrasted 
with  his  sinewy  outline  in  the  dos-a-dos,  and 
then  began  the  turning  of  the  gentlemen. 
First  came  the  breathless  dowager  to  Count 
Clawski,  who  with  a  grave  court  bow  turned 
her  slowly  and  sedately  about,  and  returned 
her  to  Gray  Grosvenor,  waiting  for  his  partner 
after  having  squeezed  the  pretty  hand  of  Mrs. 
Craig  until  her  ring  cut  her  finger.  Mr. 
Belhomme  next  hopped  briskly  about  her 
portly  form,  doing  all  the  turning  himself, 
and  again  she  returned  to  the  charge  of 
Gray  Grosvenor,  who,  after  another  turn, 
relinquished  her  to  her  son,  a  graceless 


1 66  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

youth,  who  clasped  his  mother's  waist  and 
whirled  her  off  her  feet.  At  last  after  many 
adventures  she  reached  the  foot,  exhausted 
but  cheerful,  and  the  next  couple  had  their 
turn. 

It  was  a  grand  dance,  everybody  said  when 
it  was  over,  and  Mrs.  Fallow- Deer  received 
many  congratulations  on  her  brisk  dancing. 

Larkington's  spirits  had  been  raised  to  a 
very  high  point  by  the  dance,  and  a  parting 
bottle  of  champagne  cracked  with  Count 
Clawski  failed  to  lower  them.  When  the 
time  came  for  him  to  lift  Gladys  into  the 
dogcart,  he  felt  equal  to  any  feat  of  prowess, 
even  that  of  asking  this  tall  proud  girl  if  she 
would  be  his  wife,  and  accept  the  endow 
ment  of  all  his  worldly  goods,  which  at  that 
moment  might  easily  have  been  packed  in 
his  large  portmanteau,  in  exchange  for  the 
millions  which  he  supposed  to  be  her  dower. 

Gladys,  too,  seemed  less  like  a  statue  than 
she  had  been  half  an  hour  before  by  the  sea 
shore.  Her  pale  cheeks  were  a  little  flushed 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  167 

from  the  long  fatiguing  reel,  her  dark  heavy 
hair  had  become  somewhat  loosened,  and 
one  perfumed  mesh  had  escaped  from  the 
comb  which  fastened  it. 

As  Larkington  helped  her  into  the  car 
riage,  the  wind  blew  the  soft  tress  against 
his  lips ;  it  felt  like  a  caress,  and  he  sprang 
after  her,  taking  the  reins  from  the  strange 
groom  who  held  them. 

"  I  have  lost  my  man  ;  it 's  a  most  extraor 
dinary  thing ;  he  is  usually  the  most  steady, 
punctual  creature.  I  am  afraid  that  Mr. 
Gray  Grosvenor  treated  the  coachmen  too 
well,  and  that  Stirrups  did  not  show  himself 
because  he  knew  it  would  be  better  for  him 
not  to  be  seen,"  said  Larkington. 

"  I  suppose  you  can  manage  the  horses 
for  once  without  the  moral  support  of  your 
groom,  and,  as  a  consoling  thought,  remem 
ber  that  I  am  an  excellent  whip." 

"  If  you  can  manage  horses  half  as  well  as 
you  manage  men,  Miss  Gladys,  I  would  back 
your  driving  against  the  field." 


1 68  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  that  for  a  compli 
ment,  Mr.  Larkington,  but,  upon  my  word, 
I  do  not  consider  it  such.  I  have  never 
before  been  told  that  '  managing '  was  one 
of  my  characteristics." 

"  I  did  not  mean  that ;  you  are  perverse, 
but  it  does  not  matter.  You  look  just  as 
lovely  when  you  play  at  being  cross  as  when 
you  are  smiling.  I  wish  you  would  always 
wear  that  wreath  of  oak  leaves  on  your  hat  ; 
it  makes  you  look  so  much  more  like  the  girls 
at  home,  and  so  much  less  of  a  great  lady." 

Gladys  did  not  quite  understand  this 
speech.  How  could  she  fancy  that  Lark 
ington,  moved  by  a  real  feeling,  had  half 
forgotten  himself,  and  told  her  frankly  what 
was  in  his  mind  ?  At  the  nutting  parties  in 
the  village  where  he  had  grown  up,  the  girls 
used  all  to  wear  these  pretty  chaplets  on 
their  uncovered  heads,  when  they  came  home 
together,  their  tin  pails  filled  with  fruit,  their 
hands  stained  with  the  juices  of  the  nuts. 

A  look  of  surprise  in  the  girl's  face  showed 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  169 

him  what  he  had  said,  and,  remembering  the 
business  he  had  in  hand,  he  determined  to 
plunge  in  medias  res,  and  so,  gathering  all 
his  forces  together,  he  said  with  a  voice  that 
was  not  quite  natural,  — 

"  Of  course  you  must  have  seen  how  much 
I  am  in  love  with  you,  Gladys,  and  I  cannot 
stand  the  uncertainty  any  longer ;  will  you 
marry  me  ? " 

Gladys  thought,  of  all  the  proposals  she 
had  ever  listened  to,  —  they  had  been  in 
number  exactly  twenty-five,  an  average  of 
one  a  year  for  her  whole  life,  —  this  one  cer 
tainly  was  the  most  abrupt.  But  she  had 
been  prepared  for  it,  and  with  a  sense  of 
thankfulness  for  the  form  in  which  the  fatal 
question  had  been  asked,  she  said  quietly, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  rumble  of  Mrs.  Fallow- 
Deer's  carriage  in  front  of  them,  — 

"  Yes,  I  will." 

For  he  had  not  asked  her  if  she  loved 
him,  and  she  had  been  spared  the  lie,  which 
her  proud  lips  could  hardly  have  spoken. 


I/O  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

IT  was  exactly  half-past  five  o'clock  on 
Saturday  afternoon  when  Gladys  Carleton 
pronounced  those  three  words  which  made 
Larkington  for  the  moment  consider  himself 
the  most  triumphant  man  in  the  wide  world. 

At  exactly  half-past  five  o'clock  on  the 
same  Saturday  afternoon,  Charles  Farwell 
said  to  Mr.  John  Cartwright,  his  only  com 
panion,  — 

"  Jack,  I  must  start  for  home  to-night." 
"  You  're  not  in  earnest,  Charlie  ?  " 
"  Yes,  old  man,  in  dead  earnest." 
"  What  has  made  you  change  your  mind 
so  suddenly  ?  " 

Charles  Farwell  was  silent,  and  Cartwright 
stood  leaning  against  the  damp  wall  of  the 
mine.  The  only  light  that  showed  the  two 


A  NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  \Jl 

men's  faces  to  each  other  came  from  the 
candles  in  their  miner's  hats.  The  feeble 
rays  lighted  up  a  small  space  of  the  gallery 
of  the  silver  mine  where  they  were  standing, 
and  beyond,  on  either  side,  all  was  black 
and  dark. 

It  was  not  easy  to  recognize  the  exqui 
sitely  dressed  New  Yorker  whom  we  left 
at  Newport,  in  the  man  sitting  on  a  mound 
of  earth,  dressed  in  a  red  shirt,  corduroy 
breeches,  and  top  boots,  all  besplashed  and 
bemired  with  the  dark  mud  of  the  mine. 
He  looked  infinitely  more  original  and  indi 
vidual  in  this  dress,  which  showed  his  fine 
well-knit  body  and  strong  limbs.  His  hair, 
untroubled  for  the  past  six  weeks  by  barber's 
shears,  had  grown  rather  longer  than  Gladys 
Carleton  had  seen  it  since  his  childhood,  and 
the  curl  had  got  the  better  of  him,  as  it  had 
in  those  old  days. 

Jack  Cartwright  stood  looking  at  his  friend 
with  a  puzzled  expression.  Farwell  had  come 
to  Leadville  in  answer  to  his  telegram  telling 


172  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

him  of  the  new  vein  which  he  had  found  in 
the  mine  which  was  their  joint  property, 
and  had  remained  ever  since,  working  with 
him,  and  making  plans  for  the  best  running 
of  the  mine,  which  Cartwright  was  sure 
would  make  their  fortunes. 

They  had  been  college  chums,  and  the 
friendship  begun  so  early  in  life  was  a  very 
strong  one.  Cartwright  had  led  a  rolling- 
stone  existence  during  the  ten  years  that  had 
elapsed  since  he  had  left  college,  and  had  cer 
tainly  gathered  no  moss. 

Farwell,  on  the  contrary,  had  led  a  quiet, 
industrious  life,  working  hard  in  a  broker's 
office  in  Wall  Street,  and  making  a  comfort 
able  income  for  himself,  with  which  he  man 
aged  to  do  just  twice  as  many  charitable  acts 
as  did  his  employer,  a  man  whose  fortune 
was  estimated  by  millions. 

Just  about  a  year  before  the  date  of  the 
despatch  which  had  called  Farwell  to  Lead- 
ville  so  suddenly,  Jack  Cartwright  had  come 
to  him  absolutely  without  means  of  subsist- 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  173 

ence,  but  full  of  visions  of  a  great  fortune  he 
could  realize  if  Farwell  would  supply  him 
with  the  capital  to  buy  a  certain  Leadville 
claim  which  Cartwright  was  persuaded  would 
prove  to  be  a  mine  of  riches.  The  man  who 
owned  the  claim  was  not  of  the  same  san 
guine  mind,  and  so  Cartwright  got  it  for  a 
mere  song,  Farwell  paying  the  piper.  With 
varying  small  successes  Cartwright  had 
worked  the  claim  until  the  discovery  of 
the  rich  vein  of  ore.  Farwell  had,  since  his 
arrival,  summoned  the  aid  of  several  mining 
experts,  and  had  finally  satisfied  himself  of 
the  real  value  of  the  property,  which  he  had 
always  considered  worthless,  as  did  every 
one  else  except  the  hopeful  Cartwright.  Once 
sure  of  the  solid  value  of  the  mine,  the  next 
requisite  step  was  the  forming  of  a  company 
to  work  it,  and  it  had  been  decided  that 
Cartwright  should  go  to  New  York,  and 
make  all  the  necessary  arrangements  for  the 
starting  of  such  a  company,  while  Farwell 
remained  in  charge  of  the  "claim." 


174  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

The  two  friends  had  been  making  a  tour 
of  inspection  through  the  deserted  galleries 
of  the  mine,  which  were  so  soon  to  be  filled 
with  a  crowd  of  toiling  miners,  when  Farwell 
suddenly  announced  his  intention  of  return 
ing  to  the  East. 

Receiving  no  answer  to  his  last  question, 
Cartwright  asked  again  somewhat  more  em 
phatically,  — 

"  What  the  deuce  has  put  such  an  idea  into 
your  head,  Charlie  ?  " 

"  You  did  not  hear  any  sound,  I  suppose,  a 
minute  ago  ?  "  said  Farwell. 

"  No.     What  was  it  like  ?  " 

"It  was  the  sound  of  a  woman's  voice,  and 
it  called  my  name.  No,  Cartwright,  I  did  not 
suppose  that  you  had  heard  the  voice  ;  but  I 
did.  It  was  the  voice  of  the  woman  I  love  ; 
she  called  to  me  in  distress.  I  must  go  to 
her." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  looked  into  the  dark 
ness  dreamily,  and  then  walked  with  a  quick, 
determined  pace  down  the  gallery,  Cartwright 


A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  175 

following  him,  more  and  more  amazed  by  the 
words  of  his  friend.  It  was  not  like  Far- 
well,  this  sort  of  thing  ;  he  could  not  under 
stand  it,  and,  thinking  the  close  air  of  the 
mine  might  have  affected  his  head,  he  took 
his  friend  by  the  arm,  and  they  soon  were 
out  of  the  dark,  damp,  underground  region, 
where  thousands  of  human  beings  are  con 
demned  to  pass  the  greater  part  of  their  lives 
in  toiling  for  treasures  for  other  men  to 
waste,  out  into  the  pure  air  of  the  splendid 
September  day. 

Their  eyes,  accustomed  to  the  darkness  of 
the  mine,  were  dazzled  by  the  light,  and  Far- 
well  shaded  the  too  sudden  glory  of  the  sun 
shine  with  his  hand.  In  the  vast  open  plain 
where  they  found  themselves  were  many 
works,  some  of  them  deserted  and  dilapi 
dated,  others  with  every  sign  of  busy  min 
ing  life  about  them.  The  rude  buildings 
which  stood  at  the  mouth  of  their  mine 
were  fallen  into  a  lamentable  state  of  unre 
pair,  but  to  the  sanguine  eyes  of  Cartwright 


176  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

they  were  already  repaired  and  in  good  con 
dition. 

In  the  little  office,  the  one  room  which 
boasted  a  whole  roof,  were  collected  all  Cart- 
wright's  worldly  possessions,  and  into  this 
apartment  he  led  the  way.  Farwell  stood 
leaning  against  the  door-post,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  wonderful  scene  spread  before  him. 
Across  the  wide  plain,  two  miles  distant,  lay 
the  city  of  Leadville,  a  straggling  town,  at 
this  distance  picturesque,  outlined  against  the 
high  mountains  which  lie  beyond  it,  rough, 
inaccessible,  and  grand.  The  clearness  of 
the  atmosphere  in  this  country  is  most  decep 
tive,  and  the  sun-tipped  range  of  hills  seemed 
within  easy  walking  distance.  The  summits, 
which  earlier  in  the  day  had  been  dazzling 
white,  were  now  touched  into  a  soft  rosy 
color  by  the  warm  reflection  of  the  sunset 
tints,  and  the  sky  had  softened  to  a  dim  and 
tender  blue,  more  restful  to  the  eyes  than  the 
intense  and  vivid  color  of  mid-day. 

"  Well,  Charlie,  we  must  be  off  if  you  are 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  I// 

in  earnest  about  starting  to-night,"  said  Cart- 
wright,  as  he  unhitched  the  bridle  of  his  mus 
tang.  Farwell  nodded  an  assent,  and  mount 
ing  their  horses  the  two  friends  rode  off  across 
the  arid  plain,  whose  soil  produces  nothing 
but  a  few  scraggy  fir-trees,  and  the  short 
grayish  grass  so  common  in  mining  districts. 

As  Farwell  rode  through  Chestnut  Street, 
he  said  with  a  half-sigh,  — 

"  Jack,  I  am  sorry  to  go,  for  some  reasons. 
I  have  not  been  here  Ions:  enough  to  feel  the 

o  o 

monotony  which  must  come,  I  suppose,  and 
I  still  am  bound  by  the  novelty  and  freshness 
of  the  existence  here.  There  is  a  vigor  and 
youth  about  the  country  which  we  in  the 
East  have  lost  already ;  before  we  have  grown 
to  our  prime,  we  are  old." 

"Yes,"  said  Jack;  "  remember  tins  is  the 
boss  mining  camp  of  the  world  that  you  are 
turning  your  back  upon,  because  of  an  echo 
in  the  mine  that  you  fancy  is  the  voice  of 
some  woman.  It 's  not  like  you,  Charlie,  to 
be  so  deuced  fanciful." 

12 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

"  Is  n't  it  ?  Well,  I  don't  know.  I  may 
come  back,  Jack,  and  become  a  pioneer  of 
the  new  State,  a  leading  man  in  Colorado ; 
but  I  doubt  it.  If  the  voice  did  not  call  me, 
if  she  tells  me  she  did  not  want  to  see  me, 
then  I  shall  be  back  as  soon  as  the  business 
can  be  settled.  But  if  it  was  the  voice  of 
Gladys  Carleton,  you  will  have  to  manage  the 
mine  by  yourself,  and  I  will  take  care  of  the 
city  interests.  I  suppose  you  and  I  will  be 
called  rich  men  in  a  month's  time,  Jack  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  we  will,  if  you  don't  get 
muddled  by  hearing  any  more  of  these  ech 
oes,"  said  Cartwright,  peevishly.  "  I  don't  feel 
altogether  satisfied  to  have  the  matter  in  your 
hands ;  are  you  sure  your  head  's  all  right  ?  " 

Farwell  laughed,  and  answered  more  briskly 
than  he  had  done  since  he  had  heard  the 
echo  in  the  mine.  Seeing  that  his  friend 
was  really  concerned  about  his  wits,  he  pro 
ceeded  to  discuss  the  prospects  and  the  busi 
ness  arrangements  they  had  decided  upon  in 
his  usual  clear  manner. 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

Before  the  two  men  parted  that  night, 
Cartwright  was  quite  satisfied  that  it  was  for 
the  best  that  he  should  remain,  and  his 
partner  make  the  necessary  journey  to  New 
York. 


180  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  journey  from  Leadville  to  Cheyenne 
is  not  without  interest,  nor  did  it  so  prove  to 
Charles  Farwell.  To  all  intelligent  travel 
lers  there  is  much  to  be  learned  in  the  course 
of  a  long  journey,  both  from  observation  of 
the  country  through  which  they  pass,  and  in 
conversation  with  their  fellow-travellers. 

At  Cheyenne,  the  point  where  the  great 
transcontinental  railroad  crosses  the  local  line 
of  travel,  Farwell  arrived  early  one  Septem 
ber  morning.  Awaiting  the  advent  of  the 
Eastward-bound  train  forty  or  fifty  men  were 
assembled  at  the  small  wooden  station-house. 
Every  variety  of  costume  was  worn,  from  the 
conventional  suit  of  American  morning  dress 
to  the  picturesque  garb  of  the  Mongolian. 
Long-haired,  red-shirted  herders  conversed 


A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  l8l 

familiarly  with  gentlemen  whose  clothes 
might  have  been  forwarded  them  to  this 
remote  spot  by  Poole.  A  Mexican  rancher o 
with  a  wide  sombrero  and  high  boots  paced 
up  and  down  the  narrow  plank  platform,  talk 
ing  earnestly  with  a  smart-looking  man  of 
the  Teutonic  race. 

From  the  scraps  of  their  conversation, 
Farwell  gathered  that  the  Mexican  was  con 
sulting  the  German  professionally,  on  the 
subject  of  his  wife's  health.  Farwell  learned 
from  a  loquacious  Jew,  a  commercial  travel 
ler  who  entered  into  conversation  with  him, 
that  the  Mexican  lived  fifty  miles  distant, 
and  had  ridden  over  to  procure  medicine  for 
his  ailing  wife  from  the  medical  practitioner 
of  Cheyenne.  The  same  obliging  personage 
gave  Farwell  brief  sketches  of  the  most 
prominent  of  the  individuals  who  stood 
about  the  platform,  leaning  against  the  sta 
tion  or  sitting  on  the  steps. 

"  That  little  fellow  there  with  the  red  beard 
is  an  Englishman  ;  calls  himself  at  home  Lord 


1 82  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

Archie  Alvesworth,  at  Cheyenne  he  drops 
the  title.  He  owns  a  great  cattle  ranch,  ten 
miles  from  here,  which  he  manages  himself. 
He  has  lots  of  friends  visiting  him,  and  they 
have  a  pretty  gay  time  of  it  at  his  shanty." 

"  Who  is  the  old  man  with  the  long  white 
hair  ?  "  asked  Farwell,  pointing  to  a  tall 
figure  wrapped  in  a  long  loose  gray  cloak. 

"  That  is  the  Frenchman.  He  is  rather 
light  in  the  upper  story.  That  young  girl 
upon  whose  arm  he  is  leaning  is  his  daugh 
ter.  I  can't  tell  you  their  real  names ;  they 
have  only  been  here  a  few  months,  and  they 
are  a  queer,  silent  lot.  The  old  fellow  fan 
cies  he  has  found  a  diamond  mine,  and  he 
and  the  daughter,  with  an  old  servant  they 
brought  with  them,  are  always  searching  and 
digging  for  the  wonderful  mine  that  will 
make  their  fortune." 

The  face  of  the  Frenchman  was  that  of  an 
enthusiast.  The  white  hair  and  furrowed 
brow  were  all  the  signs  of  age  which  he 
showed.  The  bright  eyes,  alert  step,  and 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  183 

the  expectant  expression  of  the  face  indi 
cated  a  sanguine  and  volatile  nature.  The 
girl  who  walked  by  his  side  had  nothing  re 
markable  in  her  appearance,  save  in  the 
pathos  of  her  eyes,  which  haunted  Fanvell 
for  months  after. 

Inside    the    comfortless    wrooden    building 
was   a  lon^  bare   room  which   served  for  a 

o 

restaurant.  Here  all  was  bustle  and  hurry. 
The  keeper  of  the  establishment  was  over 
looking  half  a  dozen  men,  who  were  arrang 
ing  the  tables.  His  wife,  a  lank,  raw-boned 
New  Englander,  was  making  thick  sand 
wiches  with  heavy  saleratus  bread  and  large 
wedges  of  ham,  cut  from  a  still  smoking 
joint.  In  an  adjoining  apartment  the  two 
bar-tenders,  in  the  lightest  possible  costumes, 
were  busy  mixing  drinks  for  the  thirsty  mul 
titude  of  loungers.  The  grated  ice  rang 
musically  in  the  tumblers,  and  the  sound  of 
the  julep  was  pleasant  to  the  ears  of  those 
who  were  anticipating  a  refreshing  draught, 
while  it  recalled  to  those  who  had  already 


1 84  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

partaken,  the  agreeable  sensation  of  the  cool 
liquid  trembling  down  the  parched  throat. 

It  was  terribly  hot.  Even  the  dogs  seemed 
to  suffer,  for  they  crouched  within  the  shadow 
of  the  long  building.  The  men  bore  the 
extreme  heat  with  resignation ;  they  spoke 
on  every  subject  of  conversation  save  the 
weather,  —  as  if  by  common  consent  this 
topic  was  avoided. 

A  smart  covered  wagon  drawn  by  a  pair 
of  strong  mules  rattled  up  to  the  station. 
From  the  vehicle  a  man  descended,  carrying 
a  child  of  two  years  of  age  in  his  arms.  He 
placed  the  little  creature  on  the  platform, 
and  turned  to  assist  its  mother  from  the 
wagon.  She  was  a  healthy,  strapping  young 
woman,  dressed  in  a  neat  silk  gown,  and 
wearing  a  bonnet  which  must  have  come 
from  New  York.  The  husband  made  fast 
his  mules,  and  the  couple  entered  the  express 
office,  where  they  were  hospitably  received 
by  the  agent. 

"  That  man   is   Dick   Parsons,   the   stage- 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  185 

driver.  His  wife  is  going  to  Maine  to  stop 
with  her  folks.  He  came  down  to  put  her 
on  board  the  train." 

Harwell's  informant,  as  they  passed  the 
door  of  the  bar-room,  made  a  slight  pause, 
as  if  more  from  habit  than  from  any  thought 
of  entering  the  room.  Farwell,  who  had 
been  too  much  absorbed  in  watching  the 
motley  crowd  of  people,  and  listening  to 
the  brief  but  comprehensive  accounts  of 
them  given  by  his  new  friend,  to  remember 
the  etiquette  of  the  country,  took  the  gentle 
hint,  and  invited  his  new  acquaintance  "  to 
take  something."  The  invitation  was  ac 
cepted,  and  the  two  men  entered  the  bar 
room. 

The  commercial  traveller  and  the  bar 
tender  exchanged  a  wink  as  the  stranger 
ordered  for  himself  a  plain  lemonade.  The 
Ganymede  of  Cheyenne  station  was  rather 
a  sinister-looking  fellow,  with  one  eye.  His 
right  hand  boasted  a  thumb  and  two  fingers 
only,  but  the  airy  skill  with  which  he  tossed 


1 86  A  NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

the  icy  fluid  from  the  tin  tumbler  to  the  glass 
one  showed  that  this  physical  defect  did  not 
unfit  him  for  his  profession. 

As  the  commercial  traveller  drained  the 
last  drop  of  his  whiskey  cocktail,  a  faint 
rumbling  was  heard  along  the  rails,  and  a 
few  moments  after  the  Eastward  train  came 
in  sight.  Every  car  window  had  an  ear 
nest  face  behind  it,  and  the  platforms  were 
crowded  with  the  passengers,  who  hardly 
waited  the  stopping  of  the  train,  to  dash 
into  the  restaurant,  where  the  preparations 
for  dinner  were  now  completed.  Farwell 
entered  the  room  with  the  crowd,  and 
watched  the  already  familiar  sight  of  the 
hungry  beings  vainly  endeavoring  to  satisfy 
themselves  with  the  indifferent  food  provided 
for  them. 

There  is  bad  management  somewhere. 
Whose  fault  is  it?  The  prices  charged  by 
the  railroads  are  so  high,  that  the  traveller 
has  a  right  to  demand  comfortable  meals  at 
a  just  cost  The  patience  of  the  American 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  187 

people  is  phenomenal.  They  are  plundered 
by  railroad  corporations  who  neglect  their 
comfort,  and  whose  parsimony  often  endan 
gers  their  lives ;  and  they  bear  this  patiently, 
not  even,  save  on  rare  occasions,  making 
the  public  complaints  which  are  to  be  found 
against  like  abuses  in  every  issue  of  the 
"  London  Daily  News." 

"  It  is  a  great  virtue,  —  patience,"  sighed 
Farwell,  as  he  left  the  table  where  his  healthy 
appetite  had  been  somewhat  appeased  by  a 
plate  of  cold  pork  and  beans  and  a  bottle 
of  warm  beer.  His  cigarette  consoled  him 
for  his  bad  dinner,  and  he  paced  up  and 
down,  looking  at  the  various  people  from 
Cheyenne  and  its  vicinity  who,  in  his  two 
hours'  waiting  at  the  station,  had  so  greatly 
interested  him.  The  young  French  girl  had 
made  friends  with  one  of  the  passengers,  a 
mother  who  had  four  children  tagging  about 
her.  She  was  carrying  the  youngest  of 
these,  while  the  woman  and  her  other  chil 
dren  walked  up  and  down,  stretching  their 


1 88  A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

cramped  limbs.  The  English  lord  was  talking 
to  the  engineer  of  the  train,  —  an  intelligent 
Scot ;  and  the  stage-driver  was  introducing 
his  pretty  wife  to  the  Pullman-car  conductor, 
an  important  personage  in  the  society  of  the 
Pacific  Railroad. 

This  half-hour's  chat  with  the  officials  on 
the  train,  and  those  among  the  passengers 
who  are  desirous  of  deriving  information  or 
willing  to  impart  the  latest  news  from  either 
coast,  is  one  of  the  most  important  events  in 
the  day  to  many  of  the  dwellers  by  the  iron 
roadway.  This  link  betwixt  them  and  the 
civilization  in  which  there  was  no  room  for 
them  lessens  immeasurably  their  sense  of 
isolation. 

But  now  the  whistle  of  the  engine  warned 
the  travellers  that  the  time  had  come  when 
they  must  again  take  up  the  thread  of  their 
journey. 

Farwell  bade  farewell  to  the  commercial 
gentleman,  thanking  him  for  his  information. 
He  stepped  upon  the  back  platform  of  the 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  189 

rear  car,  and  looked  his  last  upon  the  little 
desolate  station  and  its  crowd  of  habitues. 

The  old  French  gentleman  was  already 
climbing  into  a  rickety  vehicle,  while  his 
daughter  unfastened  the  hitching-rein.  The 
stage -driver  was  waving  a  last  adieu  to  his 
wife  and  his  little  child,  wailing  at  the  grief 
of  a  first  parting.  Inside  the  restaurant  its 
proprietor  was  seen  locking  a  cash-box  which 
had  been  filled  at  the  cost  of  the  pockets  and 
digestion  of  the  travellers.  The  one-eyed 
bar-tender  was  the  only  member  of  the  group 
of  people  who  was  still  busy,  and  his  skilled 
fingers  tossed  a  red  liquid  from  the  tin  to 
the  crystal  tumbler  accurately.  His  task  was 
never  done,  day  or  night. 

On  sped  the  train,  and  in  a  brief  space 
Cheyenne  station  was  lost  to  view. 

As  the  day  waned,  the  intense  heat  moder 
ated,  and  the  passengers  on  the  Eastward 
train  revived  a  little  from  the  wilted  condi 
tion  they  had  experienced.  They  could  look 
out  now  over  the  wide  plains  of  sunburnt 


1 90  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

prairie,  whose  lines  were  broken  at  rare  in 
tervals  by  the  farm  of  some  courageous  set 
tler.  Near  one  of  these  green  oases  the  train 
stopped  for  some  trifling  repair.  Farwell, 
standing  upon  the  platform,  looked  with  in 
terest  at  the  well-built  adobe  house  and  out 
buildings,  the  green  trees,  and  the  well-planted 
garden.  The  group  of  cattle,  the  dogs,  and 
feathered  creatures  of  the  barnyard  were  the 
only  friends  whose  company  the  family  of 
this  settler  could  claim.  The  grounds  were 
enclosed  by  a  curious  fence  of  woven  twigs  ; 
wood  and  stone  are  materials  little  used  on 
these  frontier  farms,  owing  to  the  great 
difficulty  and  expense  of  transporting  them. 

What  heroism  is  shown  by  these  men  and 
women,  who  taking  each  other  by  the  hand 
turn  from  the  luxuries  of  the  Eastern  civili 
zation  and  go  out  to  conquer  the  savage 
luxuriance  of  the  West !  Courage,  patience, 
self-reliance,  must  he  possess  who  would 
succeed  in  this  struggle  for  wealth  in  the 
Western  wilderness. 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  IQI 

As  night  drew  near,  trains  of  emigrants 
were  passed,  three  or  four  wagons  usually 
travelling  together,  for  mutual  protection. 
The  great  white-hooded  vehicles,  drawn  by 
heavy  cattle,  moved  slowly  along.  The 
family,  with  all  their  household  goods,  are 
packed  away  in  the  wagon,  which  is  almost 
invariably  attended  by  a  pair  of  dogs  and  sev 
eral  cows.  It  is  a  weary  road  which  they 
must  travel  over.  Long  lines  of  nodding  sun 
flowers  at  intervals  mark  out  the  path  of  the 
overland  trail. 

To  Farwcll  their  golden  beauty  was  an 
intense  pleasure  ;  he  asked  a  fellow-traveller 
how  they  came  to  be  so  regularly  planted, 
and  learned  a  curious  fact  from  the  man  whom 
he  had  questioned. 

In  the  early  days  when  Brigham  Young 
and  his  fellow-prophets  led  out  the  band  of 
saints  to  the  New  Jerusalem  of  Salt  Lake 
City,  across  the  wide  prairies,  many  hard 
ships  were  endured.  In  that  first  almost 
heroic  journey  the  emigrants  suffered  se- 


192  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

verely  from  the  want  of  fuel.  Young,  on  his 
return  to  the  East,  provided  himself  with 
enormous  quantities  of  the  seeds  of  the  sun 
flower,  which  the  second  band  of  emigrants 
sowed  by  the  way,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
next  party  of  deluded  fanatics  who  should 
be  enticed  from  their  homes  by  the  wily 
prophet.  The  path  over  which  the  Mormons 
passed  is  marked  by  a  golden  line,  and  the 
camp-fires  of  the  emigrants  to-day  are  lighted 
by  the  fibrous  stalks  of  the  sunflowers  which 
the  Mormon  saints  sowed  forty  years  ago. 

When  they  reached  the  station  where 
supper  was  awaiting  the  travellers,  Farwell 
decided  not  to  venture  a  second  time  that 
day  into  a  railway  restaurant.  From  his 
capacious  lunch-basket  he  drew  rations  of 
crackers  and  cheese,  with  a  bottle  of  claret. 
His  never-failing  comfort,  the  cigarette,  was 
the  only  light  save  that  of  the  stars,  as  he  sat 
in  his  favorite  place  on  the  rear  platform. 

As  the  train  sped  on  once  more  through 
the  night,  Farwell  sat  thinking  of  Newport, 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  193 

and  all  that  might  have  happened  there  since 
his  departure.  He  wondered  if  Gladys  had 
missed  him,  and  then  he  smiled  at  the 
thought.  He  knew  that  she  must  have 
grieved  over  his  departure.  He  knew  that 
she  loved  him  now;  he  had  never  doubted 
it  since  that  night  when  they  rode  home 
together  through  the  sweet  country  lanes  of 
Newport,  the  very  evening  before  his  depart 
ure.  Then  he  thought  again,  and  with  a 
sudden  pain,  of  her  voice  as  he  had  heard  it 
calling  him,  heavy  with  distress,  full  of  pas 
sionate  entreaty.  What  could  it  have  meant  ? 
If  any  ill  had  befallen  her,  he  certainly  would 
have  learned  it  by  telegraph.  He  was  com 
ing  to  her  now  with  all  the  speed  of  steam 
and  iron,  yet  the  journey  seemed  so  long! 

The  dark  prairie  was  all  about  him,  —  be 
fore,  behind,  on  either  side,  —  and  the  train 
sped  on  rapidly.  Suddenly,  far  off,  a  spark 
of  light  broke  the  blackness  of  the  night.  It 
grew  brighter  and  clearer,  as  the  train  ap 
proached  it,  and  he  now  saw  that  it  came 

13 


194  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

from  a  fire.  Not  a  chance  flame  lit  by 
a  wayward  spark,  but  a  neatly  built  camp- 
fire,  cheerful  and  comfortable.  The  flames 
crackled  about  a  gypsy  kettle,  and  shone  on 
a  great  white  wagon  standing  tenantless  by 
the  wayside.  The  tired  oxen  were  lying 
near  by,  their  noses  hidden  by  their  bags  of 
fodder.  A  group  of  people  sat  at  a  short 
distance  from  the  blaze,  just  where  their 
figures  were  lighted  by  the  flame.  A  woman 
seated  on  the  ground,  an  infant  in  her  arms, 
looking  up  into  the  face  of  the  man  who 
stood  behind  her,  erect,  and  in  the  uncertain 
light  seeming  to  be  of  a  heroic  build.  These 
three,  all  alone  in  the  midst  of  the  vast  prai 
rie,  with  hope  for  their  guide,  and  love  for 
their  companion.  This  was  a  home,  though 
the  next  evening  would  see  the  trio  far  on 
their  journey,  and  the  kettle  would  swing 
over  a  fire  some  twenty  miles  nearer  its  final 
destination. 

For  one  moment  was  the  life  picture  before 
Farwell,  warm,  happy,  full  of  a  deep  signifi- 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  195 

cance,  and  then  the  train  carried  him  past  it 
away  into  the  night.  The  cheerful  blaze 
grew  dim  again  in  the  distance,  and  finally 
was  lost  in  the  darkness.  The  remembrance 
of  that  camp-fire,  and  the  group  seen  by  its 
light,  remained  with  Charles  Farwell  when 
many  friends  had  been  forgotten,  in  the 
lapse  of  time. 

At  last  the  journey  was  accomplished,  and 
though  it  had  been  full  of  color  and  interest, 
it  was  with  a  feeling  of  intense  relief  that 
Charles  Farwell  stepped  from  the  train  at 
Jersey  City.  Five  minutes  later,  our  travel 
ler  found  himself  on  the  ferry-boat  which 
conveys  the  passengers  from  the  railroad  ter 
minus  in  Jersey  to  the  metropolis  of  New 
York. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  Farwell, 
standing  in  the  open  part  of  the  boat,  looked 
out  over  the  busy  scene  which  spread  itself 
on  either  hand.  The  tangle  of  the  shipping 
spread  across  the  heaven  like  an  enormous 
cobweb.  The  cool,  green  waters  of  the  bay 


1 96  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

were  churned  into  a  hundred  streaks  of  white 
foam  by  the  furrowing  paddle-wheels  of  the 
ferry-boats  which  ply  to  and  fro  between  the 
great  centre  and  its  outlying  dependencies. 
The  boats  themselves  were  laden  with  such 
dense  crowds  of  human  beings  that  it  seemed 
impossible  to  fancy  that  there  were  any  men 
and  women  left  in  the  city. 

On  reaching  the  landing,  Farwell,  giving 
his  checks  to  the  minion  of  the  express, 
mounted  the  stairs  of  the  Elevated  Railroad. 
He  entered  the  train,  and  in  a  breathless 
haste  was  whirled  up  town  by  that  wonder 
ful  line  of  travel  which  hangs,  like  the  coffin 
of  Mahomet,  'twixt  earth  and  heaven.  It 
had  never  struck  him  before  that  the  Elevated 
Railroad  was  a  particularly  noticeable  feature 
of  New  York.  After  his  sojourn  in  Colo 
rado,  every  detail  which  goes  to  make  the 
vast  convenience  of  the  city  of  Manhattan 
impressed  him. 

"  We  are  too  civilized,"  sighed  our  traveller, 
as  he  stepped  from  the  train  at  the  Twenty- 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  197 

third  Street  Station.  As  he  walked  down 
the  long  flight  of  stairs,  he  smiled  at  the 
thought  which  passed  through  his  mind.  He 
had  invented  a  plan  for  transporting  the  pas 
sengers  of  the  Elevated  Railroad  up  and 
down  the  long  stairs  which  lead  to  the  sta 
tions  by  means  of  a  slide,  in  the  very  moment 
when  he  had  protested  against  the  ultra  con 
venience  of  the  Elevated  Road. 

At  Delmonico's  the  great  dining-room  was 
crowded  with  the  same  set  of  people  he  had 
left  dining  there  on  the  night  when  he 
had  started  for  Leadville.  After  Farwell  had 
ordered  his  dinner  with  a  certain  care,  —  it 
was  many  weeks  since  he  had  dined,  —  he 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  looked  about 
the  brilliantly  lighted  apartments. 

At  the  table  on  his  right  sat  Hewson,  the 
coolest  speculator  in  Wall  Street.  His 
shadow,  Hangon,  a  man  triple  his  size,  had 
just  given  his  directions  to  the  servant  for 
dinner.  The  speculator  looked  careworn,  his 
thin  face  was  flushed,  and  his  hand  shook  as 


198  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

he  raised  his  glass  to  his  lips.  The  client 
Hangon  addressed  some  remark  to  the  great 
man,  who  answered  him  shortly  and  rudely. 
The  face  of  the  mighty  parasite  flushed  at 
the  rebuff,  but  his  vexation  was  cooled  and 
soothed  in  the  beaker  of  wine  which  he 
drained  at  the  expense  of  his  patron. 

Presently  Hewson  spoke,  rapidly  and 
earnestly.  Farwell  could  not  hear  the  con 
versation,  but  he  doubted  not  its  import.  A 
heavy  fall  in  stocks  had  shaken  the  market 
that  morning,  and  the  evening  paper  hinted 
that  Hewson,  the  great  stock-gambler,  had, 
in  the  phrase  of  the  street,  "  gone  up."  The 
next  day  would  prove  how  the  fall  in  the 
stock  market  had  affected  him. 

Had  the  prediction  of  failure  been  with  or 
without  foundation  ?  Farwell  wondered,  and 
watched  the  operator  closely.  He  was  a 
keen  observer  of  character,  and  he  had  a 
reason  for  wishing  to  ascertain  whether 
Hewson  had  lost  or  gained  in  the  day's 
gambling. 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  199 

The  eager  face  of  the  financier  wore  its 
usual  anxious  expression.  The  lines  about 
the  nose  were  rather  deeper  than  usual, 
and  his  hands  fidgeted  nervously  with  his 
bread.  His  appetite  was  not  so  good  as  it 
had  been  on  the  occasion  when  Farwell  had 
last  observed  him,  but  the  unusually  hot  day 
might  account  for  that. 

Farwell  enjoyed  his  dinner.  After  the 
long  period  in  which  he  had  lived  on  the 
most  ordinary  diet,  the  well-cooked  dishes  of 
the  c/ief\vere  very  agreeable.  He  was  some 
thing  of  a  Sybarite,  and  the  few  dainties 
prepared  by  his  order  would  have  tempted 
the  most  languid  appetite.  A  certain  pilaf 
served  with  boiled  truffles,  made  from  a 
receipt  Farwell  had  obtained  from  a  well- 
known  gastronome,  attracted  the  attention  of 
Hewson  from  his  own  untasted  dinner  to 
the  table  of  his  neighbor.  Farwell  noted 
the  look  of  interest  in  the  tired  face  of  the 
speculator,  and  without  a  moment's  hesi 
tation  directed  the  waiter  to  present  the 


200  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

dish  of  pilaf  to  Mr.  Hewson,  with  his  com 
pliments. 

It  was  a  happy  move  ;  for  the  bored,  worn 
expression  of  Mr.  Hewson's  face  changed  to 
one  of  pleasure,  and  the  pilaf  was  fully  appre 
ciated  by  him.  He  ate  it  with  evident  en 
joyment,  and  with  nothing  of  the  mechanical 
manner  which  often  characterized  him  while 
at  table. 

Farwell  now  knew  what  he  wanted  to. 
The  speculator  was  still  a  "  financier,"  and 
had  not  made  a  false  throw.  While  success 
attends  the  great  operators  they  are  given 
the  high-sounding  title  of  "  financier."  An 
unsuccessful  attempt  at  "  a  corner,"  or  a 
"  rush  "  in  stocks  which  beggars  them,  wins 
them  the  title  of  "gambler,"  long  ago  de 
served,  but  only  granted  when  the  game  is 
up. 

From  Farwell's  knowledge  of  the  charac 
ter  and  manner  of  Hewson,  the  appetite  with 
which  he  ate  the  pilaf  and  truffles  convinced 
him  that  whoever  else  had  suffered  from 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE,  2OI 

that  day's  operations,  Hewson  had  escaped 
unscathed.  Once  convinced  of  this  fact, 
Harwell's  next  action  was  to  leave  the  dining- 
room  quietly  and  hurriedly.  His  movement 
did  not  escape  the  keen  eyes  of  his  neighbor, 
and  while  he  was  lighting  his  cigarette  in  the 
outer  hall,  Hangon  the  parasite  followed  him 
and  asked  him  to  join  Mr.  Hewson  over  a 
bottle  of  famous  old  Burgundy. 

Farwell  returned  to  the  dining-room  and 
joined  the  two  men  over  their  wine.  They 
asked  him  about  his  journey  with  a  certain 
curiosity  as  to  its  end.  Farwell  gave  them  a 
humorous  account  of  his  trip,  with  a  graphic 
picture  of  the  life  and  manners  in  the  town 
he  had  lately  visited.  He  was  an  excellent 
talker  at  all  times,  and  this  evening  he  seemed 
at  his  best ;  both  men  listened  to  him  with 
attention  and  interest. 

Hewson,  worn  and  wearied  with  the  terri 
ble  ferment  and  worry  of  his  life  in  the  ex 
citing  atmosphere  of  Wall  Street,  was  glad  to 
be  taken  out  of  himself  and  his  own  thoughts 


202  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

by  this  bright  and  magnetic  young  man, 
whose  slightly  bronzed  face  and  hands  spoke 
of  a  long  absence  from  the  city.  '  Hangon, 
tired  with  the  long  and  close  attendance 
upon  the  peevish  patron,  was  thankful  at  so 
pleasant  an  addition  to  the  tete-a-tete  which 
had  lasted  for  several  days. 

When  Farwell  finally  rose  to  go,  the  two 
men  followed  his  example,  and  the  trio  left 
the  restaurant  in  company.  Mr.  Hewson's 
trap  stood  at  the  door  awaiting  him. 

"  Which  way  are  you  going,  Farwell  ?  Can 
I  not  give  you  a  lift  ?  " 

The  offer  was  made  in  a  manner  which 
showed  that  it  was  meant  seriously,  and  not 
out  of  compliment. 

"  Thank  you.  I  am  bound  on  rather  a 
wild-goose  chase.  I  want  to  find  Graball, 
and  I  have  no  idea  whether  he  is  at  his 
house  in  Fifth  Avenue  or  at  Long  Branch. 
Do  you  happen  to  know  ?  " 

"  No.  But  get  in  and  I  will  drive  you 
up  to  his  house ;  it  is  on  my  way.  You  will 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  203 

look  in  this  evening,  Hangon,  about  eleven 
o'clock  ? " 

The  mighty  parasite  nodded  a  reply,  lifted 
his  hat,  and  with  a  sigh  of  relief  at  the  two 
hours  of  liberty  granted  him,  walked  off  in 
the  opposite  direction.  Farvvell  and  Hewson 
drove  up  the  long  wide  avenue  past  the 
empty  houses  with  closed  blinds. 

"  How  utterly  desolate  the  city  looks ! 
People  are  coming  back  later  and  later  every 
season."  Farvvell  was  the  speaker. 

u  It 's  not  wonderful,"  answered  his  com 
panion  in  his  peevish,  fevered  voice.  "  How 
can  any  one  be  anxious,  or  even  willing,  to 
come  back  to  this  cursed  city  a  day  before 
they  are  obliged  to  ?  " 

"  How  many  days  have  you  been  out  of 
town  this  summer  ?  " 

"  Every  Sunday,  and  on  the  Fourth  of 
July." 

"  You  have  taken  no  vacation  ?  " 

"  Not  a  day." 

"  How  long  is  it  since  you  have  taken  a 
leave  of  absence  from  the  city  ?  " 


204  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

"  Not  since  I  had  the  typhoid  fever,  three 
years  ago." 

"  In  all  that  time  you  have  not  missed  a 
single  business  day  in  the  street  ? " 

"  Not  one." 

For  a  few  moments  Farwell  was  silent. 
He  was  registering  a  vow  that  he  would 
never  allow  himself  to  become  so  utterly 
demoralized,  body  and  soul,  by  the  demon  of 
play,  as  was  this  poor  nervous  human  being 
at  his  side.  Hewson's  millions  at  that  mo 
ment  numbered  a  score  or  more ;  his  name 
was  in  the  mouths  of  the  whole  army  of 
gamblers,  by  whom  be  was  envied,  admired, 
and  feared.  It  seemed  to  Charles  Farwell 
that  of  all  the  unhappy  human  beings  with 
whom  he  had  been  thrown  in  contact,  Hew- 
son,  the  great  stock  operator,  was  the  most 
to  be  pitied. 

Mr.  Graball  was  not  at  home,  the  flunkey 
who  answered  the  summons  of  the  bell  in 
formed  them.  He  had  gone  down  to  Long 
Branch,  and  would  not  be  back  that  night. 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  205 

Farwell  was  disappointed,  or  he  appeared  to 
be  so. 

"  Will  you  take  a  turn  on  the  Park  ? " 
asked  Mr.  Hewson. 

"  Yes,  thanks.  Are  you  not  afraid  of 
malaria  ?  I  am  so  much  braced  up  by  my 
long  vacation  that  I  should  enjoy  it,  but  is  it 
wise  for  you  to  run  the  risk  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  am  used  to  it.  Do  you  think  of 
returning  to  Colorado  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  possible.  I  have  an  interest  in 
a  claim  there.  It  was  apropos  of  that  busi 
ness  that  I  wanted  to  see  Graball." 

"  Is  he  interested  in  the  scheme  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  I  need  the  backing  of  Graball, 
or  some  such  man,  in  the  affair." 

"Silver?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Who  owns  the  claim  ?  " 

"  A  man  named  Cartwright,  and  myself." 

"  You  want  a  company  formed  ?  " 

"  In  which  I  shall  retain  the  controlling 
shares." 


206  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

"  Come  round  to  my  house  and  talk  it 
over.  If  it  is  a  good  thing,  perhaps  I  will 
take  an  interest  in  it." 

This  was  what  Farwell  had  hoped  for. 
Of  all  the  men  he  knew  who  could  help  him 
in  the  affairs  of  the  Little  Quickgain  Mine, 
Hewson  was  the  best  to  deal  with,  notwith 
standing  his  crusty  manner.  Farwell's  was  a 
cautious,  not  over-sanguine  nature,  and  he 
was  sure  of  the  value  of  the  mine,  and  was 
moreover  certain  that  he  could  convince 
Hewson  of  its  value,  once  having  roused  his 
interest. 

"  Come  to  my  rooms,  if  you  will,  Hewson. 
I  have  the  papers  and  certificates  of  ore ; 
you  can  look  them  over  there." 

He  knew  the  advantage  of  being  on  his 
own  ground,  and  preferred,  in  dealing  with 
this  man,  to  be  the  host  rather  than  the 
guest. 


A  NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  2O? 


CHAPTER    XI. 

"  HALLO,  Farwell !  When  did  you  get 
back,  and  how  did  you  like  Colorado  ? " 
The  speaker  was  Mr.  Gray  Grosvenor;  the 
place,  the  piazza  of  the  Redwood  Reading 
Room  at  Newport ;  the  time,  just  half-past 
nine  o'clock  on  a  September  evening.  A 
cab  had  driven  up  to  the  door  of  this  para 
dise  of  fashionable  loafers,  and  Charles  Far- 
well  was  paying  the  driver,  when  addressed 
by  Mr.  Gray  Grosvenor. 

"  I  am  just  from  the  boat,"  he  answered, 
and  joined  his  interlocutor  on  the  piazza. 
"  I  liked  Colorado  immensely.  What 's  going 
on  in  Newport  ?  I  have  not  heard  a  word 
from  the  place  since  I  left  it,  nor  seen  a 
newspaper." 

"You  hurried  back  for  the  ball,  I  sup 
pose?" 


208  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

"  Whose  ball  ?  I  tell  you,  man,  I  'm  just 
from  the  backwoods.  I  have  not  heard  or 
thought  of  a  ball  for  many  a  day." 

"  Oh,"  said  Gray  Grosvenor,  and  was  silent. 
Strange  chance  that  he,  who  was  simply  a 
club  acquaintance,  should  be  the  first  person 
to  tell  Charles  Farwell  of  the  ball  given 
that  evening  by  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer  on  the 
announcement  of  the  engagement  of  Miss 
Gladys  Carleton  to  Mr.  Cuthbert  Larkington. 

"  Where  did  you  say  the  ball  was  ? "  said 
Farwell,  lighting  a  cigarette  as  he  spoke. 

Gray  Grosvenor  hesitated  for  an  instant. 
Should  he  tell  Farwell,  who  everybody  knew 
had  always  been  in  love  with  his  cousin,  the 
news  which  he  had  evidently  not  heard  ? 
He  had,  somewhere  about  his  stout  person, 
the  vestige  of  an  organ  which  in  his  youth 
he  had  called  a  heart,  and  for  an  instant  the 
promptings  of  that  organ  hindered  him  from 
speaking ;  but  the  thought  of  being  able  to 
tell  people  that  he  was  the  first  one  to  break 
the  news  to  Farwell  came  to  him,  and,  as 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  209 

gossip  was  his  profession,  the  chance  of 
adding  so  choice  a  morsel  to  his  store  was 
too  tempting  to  be  lost,  so  he  said  slowly, 
his  eyes  fixed  on  Harwell's  face, — 

"  Why,  of  course  you  have  heard  of  the 
new  engagement,  —  your  cousin,  Miss  Carle- 
ton,  to  Larkington,  that  English  fellow  ? 
Well,  everybody  knew  it  a  week  ago,  on  the 
day  of  the  picnic,  —  ah,  what  a  pity  you 
missed  the  picnic  !  —  but  to-day  it  was  offi 
cially  announced." 

He  paused  and  looked  at  Farwell  as  if 
expecting  a  remark,  and  Farwell,  having 
nothing  else  to  say,  only  answered,  "  Oh, 
indeed ! " 

Gray  Grosvenor  was  disappointed ;  he  had 
a  right  to  expect  something  more  than  the 
ejaculation  of  "  Oh,  indeed !  "  It  would  not 
sound  very  thrilling  in  the  telling.  But  then 
Farwell's  face  was  a  thing  to  describe  ;  it 
had  grown  quite  white  and  set.  "  And  so," 
he  continued,  "  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer  is  giving  a 
ball  to  celebrate  the  joyful  occasion.  You  '11 


210  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

go,  of  course  ?  Everybody  will  be  there,  — 
quite  the  biggest  affair  of  the  season." 

"  No.  I  'm  not  invited,  I  fancy.  I  came 
back  quite  unexpectedly." 

"  But  of  course  such  an  intime  at  the 
house  as  you  are  would  not  hesitate  to  go 
for  the  want  of  a  card.  Come  along !  " 

"  Thank  you,  Grosvenor,  I  have  some  let 
ters  to  write."  And,  throwing  away  his 
unsmoked  cigarette,  Farwell  walked  into 
the  quiet  library  at  the  back  of  the  Club. 
It  was  empty,  and,  turning  the  gas  low, 
Farwell  threw  himself  into  a  chair,  his 
back  toward  the  door,  and  sat  quite  still 
for  a  space.  His  face  was  deadly  white,  un 
der  all  the  bronze  he  had  acquired  on  the 
journey,  and  his  forehead  was  lined  with 
three  deep  furrows  as  he  sat,  his  head  lean 
ing  on  his  hand,  deep  in  thought.  When 
he  moved  at  last,  after  a  space  of  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  his  first  action  was  a  very  strange 
one,  and  would  have  been  considered  by  any 
of  the  men  of  the  Club  as  extremely  repre- 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  21 1 

hensible,  had  it  been  seen.  Fortunately  it 
was  not  observed,  for  the  room  into  which 
he  walked  was  quite  empty,  save  for  a  pair 
of  sleeping  figures  in  the  two  most  comfort 
able  armchairs. 

It  was  the  Reading  Room,  and  on  the 
tables  lay  piles  of  periodicals ;  among  others, 
the  New  York  afternoon  papers,  which  had 
not  yet  been  unfolded,  and  which  a  servant 
had  that  moment  laid  on  the  table.  These 
papers  Farwell  quietly  took,  and,  folding 
them  into  the  smallest  possible  packet,  put 
them  in  the  pocket  of  his  light  overcoat, 
where  was  already  a  copy  of  the  "  Evening 
Telegram,"  which  he  had  bought  on  the 
train,  and  read  on  board  the  Eolus,  while 
crossing  from  Wickford,  the  terminus  of  the 
railroad,  to  Newport. 

Leaving  the  Club,  Farwell  walked  quickly 
along  the  avenue,  and  turned  down  the  street 
which  led  to  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer's  house  on 
the  cliffs.  He  entered  the  grounds,  with 
which  he  was  familiar,  and  walked  to  the 


212  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

back  of  the  house,  where  he  stood  looking 
through  an  open  casement  at  the  brilliant 
interior. 

The  house-  was  an  excellent  one  for  enter 
taining,  though  a  trifle  large  and  formal 
to  be  quite  comfortable  for  every-day  use. 
The  spacious  ballroom  into  which  Farwell 
looked  was  oblong  in  shape,  the  walls  were 
panelled  in  ebony  half-way  to  the  ceiling,  and 
the  furniture  was  of  massive  carved  wood. 
"  Veritable  Antique "  the  old  cabinet  and 
prie-dieu  were,  but  sadly  out  of  place  in  this 
modern  ballroom.  The  high  throne-like 
chairs  had  in  their  day  been  used  by  cardi 
nals  and  bishops,  for  they  were  from  an  old 
Episcopal  Palace  at  Avignon,  and  the  great 
clock  had  ticked  away  hours  devoted  to 
prayer  in  an  Italian  monastery.  The  som- 
breness  of  the  dark  wood  was  redeemed  by 
the  deep  red  color  of  the  walls  and  the  dull 
gold  ceiling,  the  crystal  chandeliers  from 
Venice,  the  garlands  of  splendid  roses,  and 
the  living  flowers,  tricked  out  in  all  that  was 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  213 

most  becoming  and  brilliant  in  toilettes  and 
jewels. 

At  one  end  of  the  room  stood  Mrs.  Fal 
low-Deer,  resplendent  in  red  satin  and  dia 
monds,  her  sturdy  arms  almost  bowed  down 
by  the  weight  of  the  flowers  with  which  she 
was  burdened ;  at  her  side  stood  Gladys 
Carleton,  dressed  quite  simply  in  a  gown 
which  Mrs.  Craig  rather  spitefully  charac 
terized  as  "  a  white  satin  riding-habit." 

It  suited  Gladys,  who  followed  a  fashion 
of  her  own  in  dress,  and  paid  little  attention 
to  the  "  prevailing  mode."  She  was  as  white 
as  her  dress,  that  night,  and  her  eyes  and 
hair  seemed  darker  than  ever,  by  the  contrast 
of  her  pallor.  On  a  stand  at  her  side  were 
heaped  her  bouquets,  which,  had  she  as 
many  arms  as  the  Hindoo  idol,  she  could  not 
have  carried. 

She  was  receiving  with  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer, 
and  many  were  the  good  wishes  and  gallant 
speeches  made  to  her  by  the  men  and  women 
of  the  world,  who  were  on  the  whole  very 


214  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

glad  of  the   piece  of  good  luck  which  had 
fallen  to  the  beautiful  Miss  Carleton. 

Gladys  had  all  her  life  been  petted  and 
spoiled  by  her  rich  friends,  and  had  never 
wanted  for  a  good  time,  a  fresh  ball-dress,  a 
seat  at  the  opera,  or  a  saddle-horse.  She 
belonged  to  that  class  of  young  girls  whose 
position  in  society  is  much  better  than  their 
financial  resources,  and  who  for  their  beauty 
or  their  charm  are  the  enfants  gat'ees  of  New 
York  society.  Instead  of  the  spoiling  which 
a  rich  father  and  mother  can  give,  they 
enjoy  the  indulgence  of  a  dozen  foster 
mothers  and  fathers,  who  from  the  kindness 
of  their  hearts,  or  because  they  have  no 
daughters  of  their  own  and  know  the  attrac 
tion  of  a  handsome  girl  in  the  drawing-room, 
socially  adopt  them,  and  stand  sponsor  to 
them  from  their  first  "  season."  For  a  very 
young  girl  it  is  a  charming  thing,  but  for 
a  woman  of  Gladys  Carleton 's  age  and  char 
acter  it  was  a  position  not  without  its 
drawbacks,  and  her  friends  were  all  sincerely 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  215 

glad  that  she  was  about  to  be  established  in 
life  so  successfully. 

Larkington,  looking  as  flushed  and  radi 
antly  happy  as  Gladys  should  have  looked, 
stood  near  her,  his  eyes  fixed  intently  on  her 
face,  his  whole  expression  rapt  and  exalted. 
No  one  could  doubt,  in  looking  at  the  man, 
that  he  was  deeply  in  love.  The  face,  which 
had  before  lacked  animation,  and  had  been 
characterized  by  Mrs.  Craig  as  "  stolid,"  was 
now  full  of  life  and  expression.  All  this  was 
marked  by  Charles  Farwell  as  Jie  stood  out 
side,  his  back  turned  to  the  slow-heaving 
ocean,  and  his  feet  crushing  the  roses  of  the 
garden  that  Gladys  loved.  He  saw,  too,  the 
entrance  of  Gray  Grosvenor,  and  the  bow  he 
made  to  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer,  watched  him  ap 
proach  Gladys,  and  fancied  he  could  almost 
hear  him  speak  to  her.  He  would  tell  her, 
of  course  —  she  started  just  then,  and  a 
flood  of  color  crept  up  her  white  throat  and 
spread  over  her  cheeks  and  brow ;  yes,  Gray 
Grosvenor  had  told  her  of  his  return.  It 


2l6  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

was  the  first  unconscious  movement  she  had 
made  since  he  had  been  watching  her, — 
that  little  start,  and  quick  turn  of  the  head. 
She  seemed  to  have  grown  restless,  for  in  a 
moment  she  laid  her  hand  on  Gray  Grosve- 
nor's  arm,  and  disappeared  with  him  out  into 
the  square  hall,  where  the  crowd  of  butter 
flies  was  thickest,  and  there  he  lost  sight  of 
her. 

It  was  a  brilliant  spectacle  at  which  Charles 
Farwell  stood  looking,  with  the  copy  of  the 
"  Evening  Telegram"  in  his  pocket,  but  when 
Gladys  left  the  room,  its  chief  attraction 
had  departed.  It  was  rather  chilly  in  the 
night  air,  and,  drawing  a  cigar  from  his 
pocket,  he  was  about  to  strike  a  match,  when 
he  perceived  that  he  was  not  the  only  out 
side  spectator  of  the  scene ;  a  man  of  low 
stature  approached  him  and  stood  looking 
in  at  the  window  next  the  one  where  he  had 
taken  his  stand.  Farwell  did  not  care  to  be 
seen,  so  he  quietly  put  back  his  cigar  in  the 
case,  and  the  match  in  his  pocket,  and  drew 


A  NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  2\J 

back  into  the  shadow  cast  by  the  angle  of 
the  bay  window. 

He  could  still  see  the  interior  of  the  ball 
room,  and,  as  he  looked,  he  saw  a  servant 
approach  Larkington  and  whisper  something 
to  him.  The  Englishman  looked  a  little 
puzzled,  bowed  an  assent,  and  after  a  mo 
ment  or  two,  excused  himself  to  the  lady  he 
was  talking  with,  and  left  the  room.  The 
man  at  the  window  seemed  interested  in  the 
movements  of  Larkington,  and,  as  he  left 
the  ballroom,  slipped  quietly  out  of  sight, 
disappearing  around  the  corner. 

A  moment  after  he  returned,  and  this  time 
he  was  not  alone.  The  tall  figure  of  Lark 
ington  made  that  of  his  companion  appear 
even  smaller  and  more  puny  than  before. 
They  approached  the  spot  where  Farwell 
was  standing,  hidden  by  the  dark  shadow. 

"  Here,"  said  the  small  man  who,  Farwell 
now  saw,  wore  the  livery  of  a  groom,  "  stand 
here ;  on  the  other  side  of  the  house  there  's 
a  crowd  of  people  looking  in  at  the  doors 
and  windows." 


218  A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

"  Well,  Stirrups,"  answered  his  companion, 
sharply,  "  why  did  you  send  for  me  in  this  way  ? 
Could  n't  you  wait  till  after  the  ball  ? " 

"  No.  I  'm  just  back.  Jacob  would  n't 
let  me  have  the  money." 

"  D Jew !     Why  not  ?  " 

"  Because,  Cuthbert,  you  've  made  a  mis 
take  somehow  or  other.  It 's  the  wrong  girl ; 
this  one,"  nodding  toward  the  ballroom,  "  is 
the  cousin  of  the  heiress,  and  has  n't  a  penny 
to  bless  herself  with." 

"  It 's  a lie,"  cried  Larkington,  catch 
ing  at  the  arm  of  his  servant  for  support. 
"  The  Jew  deceived  you." 

"  It 's  certain  truth,  Cuthbert,  as  I  took 
pains  to  find  out.  It  's  her  cousin,  an  old 
maid,  wot 's  got  the  money,  and  no  mistake 
about  it.  I  made  dead  sure." 

Larkington's  only  answer  was  a  groan,  and 
Stirrups  continued, — 

"  We  must  be  off  on  the  early  boat  for 
Fall  River ;  it  passes  at  two  o'clock.  I  have 
packed  the  traps  at  the  hotel,  and  will  get 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  2IQ 

the  portmanteau  down  somehow  by  myself 
after  the  house  is  quiet.  You  must  not  re 
turn  there,  but  must  go  straight  to  the 
wharf." 

11  Stirrups,  I  can't  give  her  up,"  groaned 
Larkington.  "  Money  or  no  money,  I  am 
crazy  about  her,  and  I  will  have  her,  if  we  go 
to  the  poorhouse  afterwards." 

"  There  will  be  another  place  than  the 
poorhouse  waiting  you,  Cuthbert,  when  those 
bills  come  in.  Brace  up,  old  man,  the  game 
is  up.  We  have  been  in  worse  places  and 
pulled  through  afore,  only  we  have  no  time 
to  lose." 

"  Stirrups,  look  here,  I  have  made  up  my 
mind.  I  will  marry  Gladys,  take  her  home 
to  the  old  man,  and  confess  the  whole  thing. 
When  he  sees  her,  he  '11  forgive  me,  and 
make  it  all  right  again." 

"  And  who  '11  pay  the  parson  and  the  trav 
elling  expenses  ?  You  're  crazy,  as  you  say. 
There  's  nigh  a  thousand  dollars  owing  to 
these  sharks  of  Newport  tradespeople.  And 


220  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

there  *s  only  ten  dollars  left,  that  I  saved ; 
just  enough  to  take  us  out  of  this  place  to 
New  York.  Once  there,  I  '11  get  a  situation 
easy  enough,  and  float  us  both  till  something 
turns  up." 

"  I  will  borrow  something  from  one  of 
these  fine  friends  of  Miss  Carleton.  I  have 
not  borrowed  a  penny  since  I  have  been 
here.  I  won't  run,  Stirrups  ;  that  I  swear. 
I  '11  marry  Gladys  Carleton  if  I  blow  my 
brains  out  the  week  after." 

The  two  men  had  spoken  in  undertones, 
standing  close  together  in  the  moonlight,  but 
their  voices  had  reached  the  ears  of  Charles 
Farwell,  who  disliked  the  role  of  eavesdropper 
and  now  stepped  forward  and  joined  the 
pair. 

"  If  the  excellent  advice  of  your  friend  does 

not  decide  you  to  leave  Newport,  Mr. , 

I  really  am  at  loss  for  your  name,  —  I  think  I 
have  an  argument  which  will  prove  more  per 
suasive  to  you  than  any  he  has  brought  for 
ward.  Have  the  goodness  to  look  over  the 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  221 

telegrams  from  Egypt."  And,  drawing  forth 
the  copy  of  the  New  York  evening  paper,  he 
put  it  into  Larkington's  hand. 

At  the  sight  of  Farwell,  at  his  first  word, 
all  Larkington's  blague  and  assurance  re 
turned.  "  I  do  not  understand  you,  sir,"  he 
answered  coolly,  and,  stepping  nearer  the  win 
dow  so  that  the  light  from  the  ballroom  might 
fall  upon  the  paper,  he  read  the  paragraph  to 
which  Farwell  pointed.  It  ran  as  follows  :  — 

"ALEXANDRIA,  Sept.—,  1 882.  In  the  engage 
ment  at  Tel-El-Kebir  to-day,  there  were  twenty 
men  killed,  and  an  officer  in  the  6oth  Rifles  wounded. 
—  LATER.  The  officer  who  was  seriously  wounded 
to-day  is  Captain  Cuthbert  Larkington,  son  of  Lord 
Lucre,  of  Oxfordshire,  of  the  6oth  Rifles.  His 
recovery  is  doubtful." 


222  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

GLADYS  CARLETON  woke  early  on  the  morn 
ing  after  the  ball,  which  had  been,  everybody 
said,  the  great  success  of  the  season.  She 
could  not  sleep,  as  she  usually  did  after  a 
party,  and  after  tossing  for  half  an  hour  rest 
lessly  on  her  bed,  she  rang  the  bell  for  her 
maid,  and  stood  looking  out  from  the  balcony 
of  her  pretty  room,  as  she  had  done  that 
morning  on  which  she  had  promised  to  be 
the  wife  of  Cuthbert  Larkington.  It  was 
just  such  a  morning  as  that  had  been,  fresh, 
clear,  and  full  of  sunshine.  But  it  was  of 
another  man  than  her  fiance  that  she  was 
thinking,  —  the  man  who  had  suddenly  re 
turned  to  Newport  from  Colorado,  and  whose 
face  she  had  not  seen  since  she  had  become 
engaged  to  the  Englishman.  Then  she 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  22$ 

thought,  a  little  wonderingly,  but  quite  in 
differently,  as  she  had  the  night  before,  of 
Larkington's  abrupt  disappearance  from  the 
ball ;  he  had  not  even  said  good-night  to  her, 
he  had  probably  felt  ill.  The  thought  did 
not  seem  to  disturb  her  peace  of  mind,  how 
ever,  and  she  proceeded  to  make  her  toilet, 
wondering  the  while  what  had  brought  Cid 
back  to  Newport,  —  wondering  and  half  guess 
ing.  She  hummed  an  old  song,  "  We  met, 
't  was  in  a  crowd,"  —  and  then  sighed  and 
then  laughed  at  herself  for  being  sentimental. 

The  house  bore  the  comfortless  aspect 
which  always  succeeds  a  ball,  and,  finding 
the  dining-room  and  parlors  in  the  course  of 
being  dusted  and  swept,  Gladys  stepped  out 
upon  the  green  turf  of  the  lawn,  and  walked 
toward  the  rose-garden  for  a  posy  to  put  in 
her  belt. 

"  Who  has  been  breaking  the  roses  ?  "  she 
cried  angrily,  though  there  was  no  one  there 
to  answer  her  question.  One  bush  which 
yesterday  had  been  covered  with  splendid  full 


224  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

roses  was  broken,  and  the  blossoms  were 
trampled  into  the  ground.  She  stooped  to 
pick  up  one  of  the  faded  flowers,  and  saw  a 
crumpled  newspaper  lying  close  at  hand. 

"  How  careless  people  are !  "  she  ejaculated, 
and  was  just  stooping  down  to  pick  up  the 
paper  when  she  heard  wheels  on  the  gravel 
driveway,  and  looking  round  saw  Charles 
Farwell's  trap  coming  up  at  a  quick  pace. 
He  drew  up  the  horses  at  the  sight  of  her, 
and,  giving  his  reins  to  the  servant  who  had 
come  out  at  the  sound  of  the  wheels,  joined 
Gladys  on  the  lawn. 

"  What  brings  you  out  and  up  at  this  hour, 
Gladys  ?  it  is  not  eight  o'clock  yet,"  were  his 
first  words,  while  he  looked  anxiously  into 
her  face. 

"  Why,  I  might  ask  the  same  question  of 
you,  Cid.  How  are  you  ?  I  am  so  glad  to 
see  you." 

"  I  forgot  that  I  had  not  spoken  to  you 
before.  Have  you  seen  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer  this 
morning  —  or  anybody  else  ?  " 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  22$ 

"  You  forget  how  early  it  is ;  no,  I  have 
not  seen  anybody.  If  you  came  to  see  Mrs. 
Fallow-Deer,  you  will  have  to  wait ;  she  may 
come  down  at  ten."  She  was  piqued  at  his 
queer,  cool  manner. 

"  No,  I  did  not  come  to  see  Mrs.  Fallow- 
Deer,  or  anybody  but  yourself.  Come  and 
take  a  drive  with  me." 

"  What  ?     Before  breakfast  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  are  you  so  hungry  ?  We  will  drive 
to  Finley's  and  get  some  grapes.  It  is  a  per 
fect  day,  and  besides  I  want  to  see  you, 
Gladys,  for  a  few  minutes.  Come." 

"  I  should  like  to  —  only  I  don't  suppose 
I  ought  —  I  suppose  you  know,  Cid  — " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  know  all  about  what  has  hap 
pened  in  my  absence.  Run  and  get  your  hat, 
child,  and  take  a  drive  with  me." 

"  Well,  I  will,  Cid."  She  plucked  a  rose 
bud  from  a  bush  which  his  careless  feet  had 
crushed  the  night  before,  and  held  it  out  to 
him,  and  then  picked  up  the  crumpled  news 
paper. 

'5 


226  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

"  What  is  that  paper,  Gladys  ?  Have  you 
been  reading  it  ?  " 

"  No.  I  cannot  imagine  who  could  be 
careless  enough  to  throw  it  on  the  lawn. 
Put  it  in  the  basket  in  the  library,  while  I 
get  my  cloak/' 

Farwell  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  He  put  the 
copy  of  the  "  Evening  Telegram,"  which  he 
had  dropped  the  night  before,  in  his  pocket. 
She  did  not  know  yet,  and  he  would  be  the 
first  one  to  tell  her  the  mortifying  truth. 

They  drove  down  Bellevue  Avenue,  and 
out  over  Kay  Street,  stopping  on  the  road  to 
buy  some  rolls  at  a  bakery,  and  some  great 
bunches  of  black  Hamburg  grapes  at  a  hot 
house.  Gladys  laughed  at  her  cousin,  and 
said  that  she  really  could  wait  till  breakfast 
time  ;  but  Cid  broke  off  for  her  tempting  little 
bunches  of  the  fine  grapes,  and  coaxed  her  to 
eat  a  roll.  He  had  a  great  idea  of  fortifying 
the  body  before  giving  a  shock  to  the  mind. 
How  pretty  she  looked  that  morning,  all 
dewy  and  fresh  as  the  wild  flowers  by  the 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  227 

road !  The  cheeks  which  had  been  so  pale 
the  night  before  were  rosy  now,  and  the  line 
of  her  mouth  had  grown  tender  again.  He 
found  himself  looking  at  her  and  forgetting 
all  that  had  happened  since  the  afternoon 
when  he  had  lifted  her  from  her  horse,  and 
she  had  given  the  little  tired  sigh,  like  a  child 
glad  to  be  taken  up  by  loving  arms. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  last  time  we  came 
over  this  dear  old  West  Road  together,  Cid  ? " 
asked  Gladys. 

"  Yes,  it  was  the  day  before  I  started  for 
Leadville." 

"  Did  you  amuse  yourself  in  Colorado, 
Cid  ? " 

"  Well  enough ;  but  I  did  not  go  for 
amusement.  Here  was  the  place  where  we 
stopped  and  looked  over  at  Fort  Dumplings; 
do  you  remember  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  I  do  believe  there  is  the  very 
same  man  ploughing  in  the  field." 

Then  they  were  silent,  and  the  fleet  horses 
carried  the  light  carriage  at  a  flying  pace 


228  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

down  the  great  hill  at  the  two-mile  corner. 
The  country  was  splendid  with  the  glory  of 
the  goldenrod,  which  lined  the  dusty  road 
side  and  spread  like  a  great  yellow  cloak 
over  the  fields,  cut  into  squares  like  a  chess 
board  by  the  crossing  lines  of  the  gray  stone 
walls.  Some  of  the  squares  were  deep  green, 
starred  with  purple  asters ;  others  were  of 
the  rich  brown  color  of  new-ploughed  earth ; 
many  of  the  distant  ones  were  yellow  with 
the  harvested  grain,  and  piles  of  deep  red 
gold  pumpkins  stood  at  the  corners  of  the 
fields.  The  air  was  sweet  with  the  smell  of 
the  wild  grapes  which  clung  to  the  porches  of 
the  bare  unpainted  farm-houses.  The  beauty 
of  the  complete  and  perfect  year  crowned 
the  fair  earth,  and  the  peace  of  the  fruitful 
harvest  was  over  the  land.  The  air  was 
fresh,  and,  though  full  of  light  and  warmth, 
had  a  cool  tinge  in  it,  that  set  the  blood  run 
ning  like  new  wine  through  the  veins  of  the 
man  and  woman  who  were  so  unreasonably 
and  unreasoningly  happy,  sitting,  side  by  side, 
behind  the  swift  horses. 


A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  2  29 

On  they  went,  past  the  quaint  old  gray 
windmill  on  the  left,  whose  four  great  white 
arms  slowly  revolved  in  the  light  breeze.  In 
a  little  window  high  up  in  the  quiet  mill, 
which  Gladys  said  looked  like  a  giantess's 
thimble,  they  saw  the  miller's  wife  standing, 
a  rosy  child  on  her  strong  shoulder.  The 
little  creature  waved  its  hand  to  the  two  in 
the  carriage ;  he  liked  to  see  the  horses  and 
their  shining  harness. 

"Why  did  you  call  me,  Gladys,  that  day? 
A  week  ago  yesterday  afternoon,  you  called 
me,  and  I  heard  you  in  the  depths  of  the 
earth,  far,  very  far  off;  and  now  I  have  come 
to  ask  you  why  you  called  me,  on  the  very 
day,  they  tell  me,  it  was  when  you  —  when 
you  had  no  right  to  think  of  any  other  man 
than  the  man  you  had  chosen." 

"  I  did  not  call  your  name ;  did  you  hear 
my  voice  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know  if  I  heard  anything  with 
my  ears,  but  your  spirit  called  to  mine  and 
mine  heard  it ;  do  you  not  know  this  to  be 
true  ? " 


230  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

"  Yes,  Cid." 

"  Well  ? " 

She  was  silent,  and  looked  away  from  his 
tender  eyes,  over  the  fair  landscape,  and  then 
shivered  at  an  ugly  thought  that  came  into 
her  mind. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  why  you  called  me  ?  "  he 
asked.  She  did  not  speak,  but  bowed  her 
head  in  assent.  "  Because  you  love  me, 
Gladys,  with  a  love  which  is  not  of  this 
earth  only;  because  your  lower  self  tries 
to  ignore  this  love,  and  would  do  it  an 
outrage.  Ah,  child,  you  were  in  sore  need 
of  me  when  that  spirit,  so  long  subordi 
nate  to  your  worldly  self,  sighed  to  mine  for 
help.  I  have  come,  and  offer  you  that  help." 
He  paused,  and  then  continued :  "  Why  was 
it  that  at  the  last  moment  you  threw  over 
that  *  splendid  match '  and  gave  such  pain 
and  mortification  to  that  man  in  Germany  ? " 

"  I  could  not  marry  him,  Cid." 

"  And  why  ?  Because  you  could  not  put 
a  barrier  between  our  two  souls,  which  have 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  231 

felt  the  need  so  terribly  one  of  another.  We 
are  free  agents,  Gladys,  you  and  I ;  either  of 
us  by  our  acts  could  —  can  —  break  the  union 
by  which  they  are  still  bound.  Would  you 
bargain  with  your  soul,  child,  for  the  sake 
of  things  which  are  of  this  world  only,  and 
wrong  your  spirit,  by  a  bond  of  the  flesh 
which  would  sever  it  from  mine  forever?" 

The  young  man  spoke  earnestly  and  seri 
ously,  in  a  low  voice,  passionless  and  grave. 
It  was  not  with  such  words  that  in  the  old 
days  her  boy  lover  had  wooed  her,  and 
Gladys  looked  at  him  wondering,  and  yet 
understanding  dimly  all  he  said. 

"  If  I  should  never  see  your  face  again, 
Gladys,  you  would  love  me  always ;  do  you 
not  know  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  Cid." 

They  were  silent  again  for  a  space,  and 
Gladys  noticed  the  drooping  willows  before 
the  little  gray  farm-house,  which  with  its 
wide  pasture-land,  filled  with  great  sleepy  cat 
tle,  seems  the  scene  which  Corot  must  have 


232  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

thought  of  in  some  of  the  strange  pictures 
painted  from  a  landscape  seen  only  in  a 
dream. 

Gladys  looked  up  into  the  eyes  of  the  man 
at  her  side,  which  were  turned  half  from  her. 
There  was  no  emotion  in  his  face ;  he  was 
quite  still  and  silent,  neither  pale  nor  red,  but 
with  a  far-away  look  of  peace  in  his  eyes, 
which  shed  a  calm  on  her  fevered,  world- 
weary  spirit.  The  quiet,  still  feeling  which 
she  saw  on  his  face  was  nestling  at  her  heart, 
and  with  the  long,  low  sigh  which  shook  her 
breast,  all  its  weight  of  care  and  trouble,  all 
the  bitter  littlenesses  of  her  life,  seemed  to  slip 
away  from  her,  and  in  that  moment  of  peace, 
full  of  a  strange  awe,  the  shadow  of  a  love  which 
should  last  for  eternity  swept  over  her  soul. 

A  bird's  note,  calling  to  its  mate,  fell  upon 
the  quiet  of  the  morning,  and  with  the  sound 
came  the  awakening.  FarwTell's  eyes,  which 
had  been  looking  into  the  still  blue  of  the 
skies,  turned  to  seek  those  of  the  woman  that 
he  loved,  who  was  so  near  him. 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  233 

"  Well,  Gladys,  shall  it  not  be  to-day  ?  " 

She  knew  quite  well  what  he  meant,  but, 
womanlike,  evaded.  "Why,  what  do  you 
mean,  Cid  ? " 

"  You  know  well  enough,  dear.  Shall  it 
not  be  to-day  that  all  the  demons  of  pride 
and  worldliness  which  have  kept  us  so  long 
apart  shall  be  utterly  routed  ?  Come,  give 
me  your  hand  like  a  brave  girl,  and  tell  me 
that  you  will  be  my  wife  before  sundown." 

"  Cid,  are  you  crazy  ?  " 

"  A  little,  perhaps ;  but  how  sweet  a  mad 
ness,  is  it  not  ?  Better  than  the  sanity  which 
I  have  so  long  known.  Come,  give  me  your 
hand  ;  that  means  yes  ?  " 

"  O  Cid,  how  can  you  ?  It  's  wicked. 
Think  of  them  all,  —  think  of —  that  man." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  won't  think  of. 
Gladys,  I  am  in  very  deep  earnest,  much 
more  so  than  you  can  guess.  I  ask  you, 
dear,  what  may  seem  strange  to  you  ;  but 
have  you  not  all  confidence  in  me  ?  I  ask 
you  to  come  no\v  to  Fall  River,  —  why,  we 


234  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

are  half-way  there  already,  —  and  go  to  Cousin 
Abel's  house  and  ask  the  old  fellow  to  marry 
us.  You  know  how  gladly  he  would  do  it. 
He  made  me  promise,  years  ago,  that  he 
should  perform  the  ceremony  which  is  to 
make  me  the  happiest  man  in  the  world.  I 
know  all  about  the  law.  The  license  I  can 
get  with  his  assistance  in  half  an  hour,  and 
little  cousin  Mary  will  stand  as  bridesmaid 
to  you  in  the  parlor  of  the  old  house  where 
you  first  promised." 

But  to  this  hair-brained  scheme  the  happy 
girl  would  not  listen,  half  because  she  loved  to 
hear  him  beseech  her  so  earnestly,  and  partly 
because,  with  her  formal  ideas,  the  whole 
proceeding  seemed  well-nigh  scandalous. 

"  What !  no  wedding  dress  or  cake,"  she 
cried,  —  "  no  reception,  white  slippers,  or  rice 
thrown  after  us,  —  no  one  to  give  me  away  ? 
It  would  look  as  if  I  were  afraid  of  my  own 
determination,  and  feared,  if  I  did  not  marry 
you  right  away,  I  should  change  my  mind." 

And  the  sorrels,  brave  creatures,  still  bore 


A  NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  235 

the  trap  swiftly  along,  past  Portsmouth,  across 
the  middle  road,  and  from  the  bold  west  side 
of  the  island,  over  to  the  East  Road,  with  its 
wonderful  panorama  of  river  and  islet,  seen 
from  the  high-road.  Down  Quaker  Hill  they 
sped,  through  Newtown,  and  finally  their 
hoofs  struck  the  timber  of  the  Stone  Bridge. 

Gladys  gave  a  little  cry  as  she  looked 
down  and  saw  the  water  beneath  and  behind 
them.  They  had  left  the  dreamy  island, 
"  lying  like  an  opal  in  a  sea  of  sapphire." 
Newport  was  behind  them,  and  the  wide 
world  before.  At  Tiverton  they  stopped, 
and  the  horses  were  refreshed  by  a  bucket  of 
cool  water.  To  Gladys  was  no  need  of  water 
or  of  bread ;  Farwell  never  even  thought 
about  his  cigar. 

Gladys  still  protested  that  she  would  not, 
but  she  did  not  ask  her  lover  to  turn  the 
sorrels'  heads  towards  Newport,  and  off  they 
started,  the  brave  beasts,  as  fresh  as  if  twelve 
miles  had  not  lain  between  them  and  their 
stable.  Gladys  sang  a  little  song,  for  the  joy 


236  A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

in  her  heart  could  not  speak  in  words ;  but  as 
the  farm-houses  were  seen  closer  and  closer 
together,  and  the  straggling  outposts  of  the 
town  grew  near,  she  became  quite  quiet,  and, 
slipping  her  hand  into  her  lover's  arm,  looked 
at  him  with  eyes  dark  with  a  shadow  half  of 
love,  half  of  fear,  —  the  sweetest  look  that 
woman's  eyes  can  wear, —  the  eyes  of  a  bride. 

"  It  was  very  strange  that  Gladys  did  not 
come  home  to  luncheon,"  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer 
said  to  Mrs.  Craig,  who  had  come  round  in 
a  state  of  wild  excitement  to  tell  the  news 
which  the  Egyptian  telegram  contained. 

"  So  he  was  an  impostor,  after  all,"  said 
Mrs.  Craig,  after  the  two  ladies  had  discussed 
the  matter  for  at  least  two  hours,  with  the 
assistance  of  Gray  Grosvenor  and  Count 
Clawski,  who  came  to  bring  the  latest  news 
about  the  strange  affair,  which  was  the  talk 
of  the  town. 

Mrs.  Fallow-Deer  had  been  genuinely 
shocked,  and  had  wept  real  tears  for  Gladys's 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  237 

disappointment  and  mortification,  for  which 
she  felt  herself  in  a  measure  responsible. 
She  had  brought  down  the  letter  of  intro 
duction  which  the  soi-disant  Larkington  had 
brought  her,  and  it  was  read  by  each  and 
every  one  of  the  friends  who  had  come  to 
"  talk  it  over."  Now  that  she  looked  at  it  in 
this  new  light,  the  letter  was  a  very  guarded 
one,  and  the  writer,  an  Englishman  of  more 
illustrious  name  than  character,  asked  leave 
to  present  to  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer  Mr.  Cuthbert 
Larkington,  whose  acquaintance  he  had  had 
the  great  pleasure  of  making  on  board  the 
Servia. 

Count  Clawski.  who  had  befriended  the 
Englishman  because  he  liked  him,  had 
brought  the  last  news  of  him.  Going  down 
to  the  steamer  to  send  off  some  important 
despatches,  he  had  encountered  Larkington 
on  the  gang-plank.  The  man  had  been  too 
much  overcome  to  speak,  and  had  grasped 
the  Count  by  the  hand,  and  then  staggered 
into  the  boat,  accompanied  by  his  servant 


238  A   NEWPORT  ^AQUARELLE. 

Stirrups,  who   had   said,  by  way  of    expla 
nation, — 

"  My  master  has  had  some  bad  news,  sir, 
which  takes  him  away  unexpectedly." 

It  was  all  very  strange,  —  stranger  that 
Gladys  did  not  come  home ;  perhaps  she 
had  seen  the  news  in  the  morning  paper, 
and  had  gone  to  her  cousin  Amelia's  house 
to  pass  the  day,  and  avoid  meeting  Mrs. 
Fallow-Deer. 

"  Poor  girl,"  cried  that  good  lady  at  last, 
when  the  final  words  had  been  said  a  hun 
dred  times  on  the  exciting  topic,  and  a  hun 
dred  surmises  made  by  Mr.  Gray  Grosvenor, 
"  I  must  really  drive  down  to  Amelia's  and 
find  her." 

It  was  three  o'clock,  the  luncheon  had 
protracted  itself  until  a  very  late  hour,  and 
Mrs.  Fallow-Deer,  excusing  herself  from  her 
guests,  rang  for  her  carnage,  and  was  just 
preparing  to  start  in  quest  of  "  the  poor 
deceived  darling,"  when  Charles  Harwell's 
card  was  brought  up  to  her. 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  239 

Into  the  great  ballroom,  which  had  lately 
been  the  scene  of  Gladys's  triumph,  the  good- 
hearted  matron  went,  trembling  a  little  at 
the  interview  before  her  with  the  only  male 
relative  of  Gladys  who  was  likely  to  come 
and  ask  her  explanation  of  the  unfortunate 
affair. 

There  he  stood  by  the  mantelpiece,  quite 
composed  and  quiet,  but  with  a  face  which 
was  bright  with  a  light  which  had  been  miss 
ing  from  the  ballroom  on  the  night  before. 

On  the  sofa  sat  a  queer  little  old  gentle 
man  with  white  hair  and  big  spectacles, 
whom  Farwell  introduced  as  "the  Rev. 
Abel  Carleton,  a  cousin  of  Gladys's  and  of 
mine." 

Poor  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer !  she  had  been 
distressed  at  the  idea  of  meeting  one  indig 
nant  relative,  and  here  were  two.  It  was 
almost  more  than  she  could  bear,  and,  feel 
ing  that  it  was  an  occasion  when  a  woman's 
best  card  should  be  played,  she  pressed  her 
lace  pocket-handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  and 


240  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

sobbed  forth  a  broken  greeting  to  the  two 
gentlemen. 

"  My  dear  madam,"  said  the  Rev.  Abel, 
gallantly,  "  pray  do  not  cry.  It  is  my  duty 
to  break  to  you  a  piece  of  news." 

"  No,  no,  Mr.  Carleton,  I  have  already 
heard  of  it,"  wailed  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer,  "  and 
what  can  I  say?  No  one  can  suffer  more 
than  I,  at  this  sad  affair ;  you  certainly  must 
know  how  entirely  I  was  deceived  by  the 
young  man." 

"  Indeed,  ma'am,  I  was  not  aware  that  you 
had  heard  the  news;  but  really,  these  tears, 
this  distress — I  cannot  think,  madam,  that 
they  are  indicative  of  your  real  sentiments." 

Mrs.  Fallow-Deer  bridled  and  dried  her 
tears.  "  Mr.  Carleton,"  she  said  in  her  most 
accentuated  and  dramatic  manner,  "I  really 
do  not  understand  you,  sir ;  you  seem  in 
clined  to  make  light  of  this  terrible  —  this 
mortifying  affair." 

"  Well,  well,  my  dear  madam,  that  is  taking 
an  extreme  view  of  the  case.  It  was  without 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  241 

doubt  sudden  and  perhaps  rash ;  but,  Mrs. 
Fallow-Deer,  young  folks  are  not  so  slow  as 
we  old  ones  in  their  thoughts  or  in  their  ways, 
and  I  thought  sincerely  that  I  was  acting  for 
the  best  in  helping  the  young  man  — " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Carleton  ?  — 
Farwell,  I  don't  understand  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Fallow-Deer,  faintly. 

"  The    fact   is,   dear    Mrs.  Fallow-Deer,  I 
trust  you  won't  be  angry,  but  —  Gladys  - 
stammered  Farwell. 

"  Well,  what  about  Gladys  ?  Do  you  know 
where  she  is  ?  I  have  not  seen  her  to-day." 

There  was  a  little  rustle,  and  from  behind 
a  curtain  Gladys  appeared,  blushing,  con 
fused,  radiant.  She  looked  neither  at  Charles 
Farwell  nor  the  Rev.  Abel,  but  glided  up  to 
Mrs.  Fallow-Deer,  and,  throwing  her  arms 
about  that  good  lady's  neck,  buried  her  head 
on  her  tight-laced  but  motherly  bosom,  and 
whispered, — 

"  Dear,  forgive  us,  —  but  I  —  am  Charlie's 
wife." 

16 


242  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 


L'ENVOI. 


In  the  early  October  days  Newport  is  still 
fair  with  a  beauty  tinged  with  sadness;  the 
prime  of  the  year  is  past.  In  the  long 
crescent  corridor  of  the  Casino  there  is  noth 
ing  of  that  gay  throng  of  people  we  first  saw 
there.  Where  hundreds  were  wont  to  sit  and 
stare,  walk  and  chat,  only  a  dozen  or  two  per 
sons  are  to  be  seen  scattered  about.  Among 
these  few  "  late  "  people  we  recognize  some 
faces  on  this  October  morning,  whose  ac 
quaintance  we  first  made  in  the  merry  month 
of  August. 

Mrs.  Fallow-Deer,  in  the  latest  of  Dono 
van's  imported  costumes,  and  Mrs.  Craig, 
fresh  as  a  rosebud,  are  sitting  together,  occu 
pied  for  the  moment  in  watching  two  people 
who  are  walking  across  the  green  that  leads 
to  the  racket  court.  We  can  only  see  their 
backs,  but  that  carriage  of  the  head  could  be 
long  to  no  one  but  Gladys  Carleton  —  we 
beg  her  pardon  —  Farwell,  and  the  light 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  243 

springing  gait  of  the  man  at  her  side  we  have 
seen  before,  in  the  deeps  of  a  Lcadville 
mine.  They  had  returned,  the  two  young- 
people,  from  their  "  trip,"  and  the  nine  clays' 
wonder  of  their  marriage  had  been  revived 
and  seemed  likely  to  live  as  many  more  days 
in  the  thoughts  and  conversation  of  the  good 
people  of  Newport. 

"  Does  not  Gladys  look  handsomer  than 
ever?  "  said  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer,  warmly. 

"  Oh  yes,  she  looks  very  well ;  but  don't  you 
think  it 's  poor  taste  of  them  to  come  back 
to  Newport,  where  they  have  been  so  much 
talked  about,  just  now?  "  said  Mrs.  Craig. 

"  Indeed,  no,  or  I  should  n't  have  asked 
them  to  visit  me.  Why  should  they  not  ? 
I  myself  am  proud  of  the  girl  who  I  always 
said  had  real  heart,  au  fond.  You  knew  that 
she  never  heard  that  Larkington  was  an  im 
postor  until  a  week  after  her  marriage  ?  " 

"  I  heard  that  Gladys  said  so,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Craig,  with  a  vicious  intonation  of  doubt 
in  her  voice. 


244  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

"  I  know  that  she  did  not  know  about  it," 
rejoined  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer. 

"  Do  you  really  believe  that,  dear  Mrs. 
Fallow-Deer?  Well,  it  is  refreshing  to  find 
some  one  who  is  not  sceptical  in  this  day  and 
generation.  I  suppose  you  believe  also  that 
Gladys  did  not  know  about  Harwell's  having 
made  that  pile  of  money  in  the  Little  Quick- 
gain  Mine  ? " 

"  My  dear,  I  know  she  did  not,  for  when 
we  talked  it  all  over  together  that  afternoon, 
after  she  came  back,  and  surprised  me  into 
hysterics,  she  spoke  quite  seriously  about  her 
having  married  a  poor  man.  She  had  always 
loved  Charlie  Farwell  in  a  way,  but  she  was  a 
queer  girl,  and  the  knowledge  of  her  love  for 
him  only  came  to  her  in  its  full  force  on  that 
day  when  they  went  off  for  the  fatal  drive. 
She  had  loved  him,  but  he  had  somehow 
failed  to  say  the  right  thing  to  her;  he  had 
given  her  up  too  easily,  before  her  heart  was 
really  awake." 

"  But,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Craig,  "if  she  had 


A    NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  245 

not  heard  all  about  that  horrid  Englishman, 
she  never  would  have  done  so  queer,  so 
utterly  unheard-of  a  thing  as  to  get  up  in 
the  middle  of  the  night  and  steal  away  to 
Fall  River,  to  be  married  by  dear  knows 
who,  to  a  man  that  she  might  have  married 
six  years  ago.  It  was  because  she  had  not 
the  face  to  stand  the  mortification  alone,  that 
she  took  up  with  Charlie  Farwell,  who  really 
deserves  better  treatment." 

"  Now,  Minnie  Craig,  once  and  for  all  I 
won't  hear  any  more  such  spite  about  Gladys. 
It  was  because  Charlie  would  not  be  taken 
as  a  pis  aller,  that  he  married  her  that  morn 
ing.  He  told  her  afterwards  that  if  she  had 
not  married  him  then,  before  she  knew  of 
Larkington's  being  a  humbug,  and  while  she 
thought  Farwell  to  be  a  man  of  moderate 
means,  she  never  would  have  had  another 
chance.  She  never  even  knew  there  was 
such  a  mine  as  the  Little  Quickgain,  which 
Charlie  really  only  bought  to  help  that  queer 
Bohemian  friend  of  his,  Cartwright,  never 


246  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

dreaming  that  his  bread  would  come  back  to 
him  toasted  and  buttered.  Gladys  married 
a  poor  New  York  broker,  while  she  thought 
herself  engaged  to  an  English  peer,  just  as 
surely  as  if  the  real  Cuthbert  Larkington 
had  never  been  shot,  and  the  false  one  dis 
covered,  and  the  Little  Quickgain  did  not 
stand  at  275.  To  her  the  credit  of  such  un- 
worldliness  belongs,  and  only  envy  can  deny 
it  to  her.  It  is  not  so  often  that  we  have  a 
love  match  in  our  set ;  we  had  better  make 
the  most  of  it,  I  think." 

The  good  Mrs.  Fallow-Deer,  at  heart  warm 
and  kindly,  spoke  indignantly  to  the  little 
pretty  fribble  of  a  worldling  at  her  side,  and 
Count  Clawski  noticed,  as  he  joined  the  two 
ladies,  that  some  rather  high  words  must  have 
passed  between  them,  but  he  was  too  full  of 
his  subject  to  keep  it  to  himself,  he  had  a  bit 
of  news  which  he  knew  would  be  eagerly  lis 
tened  to  by  them  both. 

"  I  have  just  heard  the  real  truth  about 
our  Englishman,"  he  said,  "  in  a  letter  from 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  247 

my  friend  in  London,  to  whom  I  telegraphed 
to  find  out  about  him.  His  name  is  really 
what  he  said  it  was,  only  he  has  not  a  right 
to  the  Honorable,  and  he  is  not  the  son  of 
Lord  Lucre.  He  is  the  son  of  a  respectable 
London  retail  haberdasher,  of  the  same  name 
as  Lord  Lucre's  family,  Larkington,  and,  this 
boy  being  born  a  short  time  after  the  son  of 
Lord  Lucre,  the  mother  thought  it  might 
bring  him  good  luck  to  give  him  the  same 
name  as  that  of  the  Earl's  son.  His  father 
is  a  man  of  respectable  position,  but  the  silly 
wife  has  had  great  notions  of  making  a  gen 
tleman  of  her  boy.  She  did  not  want  him  to 
measure  his  betters  for  their  socks,  and  so 
raked  and  scraped  together  enough  money 
to  keep  him  idle  and  floating  about  Europe, 
as  a  gentleman  of  leisure.  His  groom  was 
his  father's  apprentice,  and  his  great  friend. 
Lately  there  had  been  some  row  between 
the  father  and  son,  and  the  two  young  men 
started  off  for  America." 

Gray    Grosvenor    had   joined    the    group 


248  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

while  Clawski  gave  this  sketch  of  the  bogus 
Hon.  Cuthbert,  and  after  listening  intently 
to  all  the  fat  diplomate  had  to  say,  he  heaved 
a  great  sigh  of  relief.  No,  Clawski  had  not 
heard  the  last  thing  connected  with  the 
strange  affair,  and  his  thunder  was  not  stolen. 
Rapturous  thought !  As  Gray  Grosvenor 
stood  silent,  a  smile  of  superior  knowledge 
on  his  face,  a  warm  complacency  in  his  ex 
pression,  awaiting  the  recovery  of  his  breath, 
lost  in  the  quick  pace  at  which  he  had  walked 
from  the  racket  court  to  the  corridor,  his  eyes 
fell  upon  a  picture  framed  in  the  oriel  of 
black  wood  in  the  balcony  of  the  racket 
court.  There,  looking  down  at  the  group, 
stood  Gladys  and  her  lover  husband,  smiling, 
bright,  and  beautiful.  What  a  contrast  they 
were,  —  the  Saxon-haired  man,  strong  and 
ruddy  with  health,  and  the  graceful  slender 
woman  with  her  white  face  and  great  dark 
eyes  !  For  one  moment  they  stood  looking 
down  at  their  friends  in  the  full  sunlight,  and 
then  Gladys  waved  a  white  hand,  Farwell 


A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE.  249 

lifted   his   hat,  and   they  disappeared   under 
the  shadow  of  the  balcony. 

As  they  were  lost  to  view,  Gray  Grosvenor 
gained  his  lost  breath,  and  said,  "  Well,  what 
do  you  think  the  last  extraordinary  act  of 
that  extraordinary  young  man  is  ?  "  Of 
course  they  could  not  guess  and  begged  to 
be  told. 

"  Why,  the  Far  wells,  passing  through  New 
York  on  their  return  from  their  queer  bridal 
trip  to  Colorado,  met  Larkington  in  the 
street,  looking  seedy,  sick,  and  generally 
broken  up.  Stirrups  was  with  him,  devoted 
still,  but  the  two  of  them  were  in  a  bad 
plight.  What  does  Farwell  do,  but  pay  the 
passage  of  these  fcvo  rascals  to  Leadville,  and 
give  Cartwright  directions  to  find  them 
work  in  the  mine,  and  let  them  have  one 
more  chance  at  supporting  themselves  hon 
estly  ?  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  " 

Mrs.  Craig  sniffed  and  said,  "  It  is  not 
surprising  that  the  Farwells  wanted  the  man 
out  of  the  way ;  he  might  talk  and  say  some 


250  A   NEWPORT  AQUARELLE. 

things  which  they  would  rather  not  have 
heard." 

Mrs.  Fallow-Deer  said  nothing,  but  pressed 
her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  in  which  were 
real  tears ;  she  was  rather  hysterical  that 
morning,  and  was  easily  touched. 

"  Ah !  noblesse  oblige"  Count  Clawski 
was  the  speaker.  For  once  the  accomplished 
diplomate  forgot  his  careful  English  and 
spoke  feelingly  in  his  native  tongue.  "  Vrai- 
ment,  cest  agir  en  grand  seigneur" 


THE    END. 


University  Press:  John  Wilson  &  Son,  Cambridge. 


Messrs.  Roberts  BrotJiers   Publications. 


FAMOUS    WOMEN    SERIES. 


GEORGE     SAND. 

BY    BERTHA    THOMAS. 
One  volume.     i6mo.     Cloth.     Price,  £1.00. 

"  Miss  Thomas  lias  accomplished  a  difficult  task  with  as  much  good  sense  as 
good  feeling.  She  presents  the  main  facts  of  George  Sand's  life,  extenuating 
nothing,  and  setting  naught  down  in  malice,  but  wisely  leaving  her  readers  to 
form  their  own  conclusions.  Everybody  knows  that  it  \vas  not  such  a  life  as  the 
women  of  England  and  America  are  accustomed  to  live,  and  as  the  worst  of  men 
are  glad  to  have  them  live.  .  .  .  Whatever  may  be  said  against  it,  its  result  on 
George  Sand  was  not  what  it  would  have  been  upon  an  English  or  American 
woman  of  genius."  —  New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

"  This  is  a  volume  of  the  '  Famous  Women  Series,'  which  was  begun  so  well 
with  George  Eliot  and  Emily  I, route.  The  book  is  a  review  and  critical  analysis 
of  George  Sand's  life  and  work,  by  no  means  a  detailed  biography.  Amantine 
Lucile  Aurora  Dupin,  the  maiden,  or  Mine.  Dudevant,  the  man  led  woman,  is 
forgotten  in  the  renown  of  the  pseudonym  George  Sand. 

"Altogether,  George  Sand,  with  all  her  excesses  and  defects,  is  a  representative 
woman,  one  of  the  names  of  the  nineteenth  century.  She  was  great  among  the 
greatest,  the  friend  and  compeer  of  the  finest  intellects,  and  Miss  Thomas's  essay 
will  be  a  useful  and  agreeable  introduction  to  a  more  extended  study  of  her  life 
and  works."  —  Knickerbocker. 

"  The  biography  of  this  famous  woman,  by  Miss  Thomas,  is  the  only  one  in 
existence.  Those  who  have  awaited  it  with  pleasurable  anticipation,  but  with 
some  trepidation  as  to  the  treatment  of  the  erratic  side  of  her  character,  cannot 
fail  to  be  pleased  with  the  skill  by  which  it  is  done.  It  is  the  best  production  on 
George  Sand  that  has  yet  been  published.  The  author  modestly  refers  to  it  as  a 
sketch,  which  it  undoubtedly  is,  but  a  sketch  that  gives  a  just  and  discriminating 
analysis  of  George  Sand's  life,  tastes,  occupations,  and  of  the  motives  and  impulses 
which  prompted  her  unconventional  actions,  that  were  misunderstood  by  a  narrow 
public.  The  difficulties  encountered  by  the  writer  in  describing  this  remarkable 
character  are  shown  in  the  first  line  of  the  opening  chapter,  which  says,  'In  nam 
ing  George  Sand  we  name  something  more  exceptional  than  even  a  great  genius.' 
That  tells  the  whole  story.  Misconstruction,  condemnation,  and  isolation  are  the 
penalties  enforced  upon  the  great  leaders  in  the  realm  of  advanced  thought,  by 
the  bigoted  people  of  their  time.  The  thinkers  soar  beyond  the  common  herd, 
whose  soul-wings  are  not  strong  enough  to  fly  aloft  to  clearer  atmospheres,  and 
consequently  they  censure  or  ridicu'e  what  they  are  powerless  to  reach.  George 
Sand,  even  10  a  greater  extent  than  her  contemporary,  George  Eliot,  was  a  victim 
to  ignorant  social  prejudices,  but  even  the  conservative  world  was  forced  to  recog 
nize  the  matchless  genius  of  these  two  extraordinary  women,  each  widely  different 
in  her  character  and  method  of  thought  and  writing.  .  .  .  She  has  told  much  that 
is  good  which  has  been  untold,  and  just  what  will  interest  the  reader,  and  no  more, 
in  the  same  easy,  entertaining  sty'e  that  characterizes  all  of  these  unpretentious 
biographies."  — Hartford  Times. 


Sold  everywhere.     Mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  price,  by  the  publishers, 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,    Boston. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers    Publications. 
FAMOUS  WOMEN  SERIES, 

EMILY  "BRONTE. 

BY    A.    MARY    F.    ROBINSON. 
One  vol.   16mo.  Cloth.  Price,  $1.00. 

"  Miss  Robinson  has  written  a  fascinating  biography.  .  .  .  Emily  Bronte  is 
interesting,  not  because  she  wrote  '  Wuthering  Heights,'  but  because  of  her 
brave,  baffled,  human  life,  so  lonely,  so  full  of  pain,  but  with  a  great  hope  shining 
beyond  all  the  darkness,  and  a  passionate  defiance  in  bearing  more  than  the 
burdens  that  were  laid  upon  her.  The  story  of  the  three  sisters  is  infinitely  sad, 
but  it  is  the  ennobling  sadness  that  belongs  to  large  natures  cramped  and  striving 
for  freedom  to  heroic,  almost  desperate,  work,  with  little  or  no  result.  The  author 
of  this  intensely  interesting,  sympathetic,  and  eloquent  biography,  is  a  young  lady 
and  a  poet,  to  whom  a  place  is  given  in  a  recent  anthology  of  living  English  poets, 
which  is  supposed  to  contain  only  the  best  poems  of  the  best  writers."  —  Boston 
Daily  A  dvertiser. 

"Miss  Robinson  had  many  excellent  qualifications  for  the  task  she  has  per 
formed  in  this  little  volume,  among  which  may  be  named,  an  enthusiastic  interest 
in  her  subject  and  a  real  sympathy  with  Emily  Bronte's  sad  and  heroic  life.  'To 
represent  her  as  she  was,'  says  Miss  Robinson,  '  would  be  her  noblest  and  most 
fitting  monument.'  .  .  .  Emily  Bronte  here  becomes  well  known  to  us  and,  in  one 
sense,  this  should  be  praise  enough  for  any  biography.''  —  New  York  Times. 

"The  biographer  who  finds  such  material  before  him  as  the  lives  and  characters 
of  the  Bronte  family  need  have  no  anxiety  as  to  the  interest  of  his  work.  Char 
acters  not  only  strong  but  so  uniquely  strong,  genius  so  supreme,  misfortunes  so 
overwhelming,  set  in  its  scenery  so  forlornly  picturesque,  could  not  fail  to  attract 
all  readers,  if  told  even  in  the  most  prosaic  language.  When  we  add  to  this,  that 
Miss  Robinson  has  told  their  story  not  in  prosaic  language,  but  with  a  literary 
style  exhibiting  all  the  qualities  essential  to  good  biography,  our  readers  will 
understand  that  this  life  of  Emily  Bronte  is  not  only  as  interesting  as  a  novel,  but 
a  great  deal  more  interesting  than  most  novels.  As  it  presents  most  vividly  a 
general  picture  of  the  family,  there  seems  hardly  a  reason  for  giving  it  Emily's  name 
alone,  except  perhaps  for  the  masterly  chapters  on  '  Wuthering  Heights,'  which 
the  reader  will  find  a  grateful  condensation  of  the  best  in  that  powerful  but  some 
what  forbidding  story.  We  know  of  no  point  in  the  Bronte  history  —  their  genius, 
their  surroundings,  their  faults,  their  happiness,  their  misery,  their  love  and  friend 
ships,  their  peculiarities,  their  power,  their  gentleness,  their  patience,  their  pride, 
—  which  Miss  Robinson  has  not  touched  upon  with  conscientiousness  and  sym 
pathy." —  Tke  Critic. 

'"  Emily  Bronte '  is  the  second  of  the  '  Famous  Women  Series,'  which  Roberts 
Brothers,  Boston,  propose  to  publish,  and  of  which  '  George  Eliot '  was  the  initial 
volume.  Not  the  least  remarkable  of  a  very  remarkable  family,  the  personage 
whose  life  is  here  written,  possesses  a  peculiar  interest  to  all  who  are  at  all  familiar 
with  the  sad  and  singular  history  of  herself  and  her  sister  Charlotte.  That  the 
author,  Miss  A.  Mary  F.  Robinson,  has  done  her  work  with  minute  fidelity  to 
facts  as  well  as  affectionate  devotion  to  the  subject  of  her  sketch,  is  plainly  to  be 
seen  all  through  the  book."  —  Washington  Post. 


Sold  by  all  Booksellers,  or  mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of 
price,  by  the  Publishers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  BOSTON. 


MESSES,   EGBERTS  BEOTHEES'  PUBLICATIONS, 

Jfamous  (KBomen  Series. 
GEORGE    ELIOT. 

BY  MATHILDE   BLIND. 

One  vol.     i6mo.     Cloth.     Price,  $1.00. 


"  Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers  begin  a  series  of  biographies  of  Famous 
Women  with  a  life  of  George  Eliot,  by  Mathikle  Blind.  The  idea  of  the 
series  is  an  excellent  one,  and  the  reputation  of  its  publishers  is  a  guarantee 
for  its  adequate  execution.  This  book  contains  about  three  hundred  pages  in 
open  type,  and  not  only  collects  and  condenses  the  main  facts  that  are  known 
in  regard  to  the  history  of  George  Eliot,  but  supplies  other  material  from 
personal  research.  It  is  agreeably  written,  and  with  a  good  idea  of  propor 
tion  in  a  memoir  of  its  size.  The  critical  study  of  its  subject's  works,  which 
is  made  in  the  order  of  their  appearance,  is  particularly  well  done.  In  fact, 
good  taste  and  good  judgment  pervade  the  memoir  throughout."  —Saturday 
Evening  Gazette. 

"  Miss  Blind's  little  book  is  written  with  admirable  good  taste  and  judg 
ment,  and  with  notable  self-restraint.  It  do«6  not  weary  the  reader  with 
critical  discursiveness,  nor  with  attempts  to  search  out  high-flown  meanings 
and  recon-lite  oracles  in  the  plain  'yea'  and  '  nay  '  of  life.  It  is  a  graceful 
and  unpretentious  little  biography,  and  tells  all  that  need  be  told  concerning 
one  of  the  greatest  writers  of  the  time.  It  is  a  deeply  interesting  if  not 
fascinating  woman  whom  Miss  Blind  presents,"  says  the  New  York 
Tribune. 

"  Miss  Blind's  little  biographical  study  of  George  Eliot  is  written  with 
sympathy  and  good  taste,  and  is  very  welcome.  It  gives  us  a  graphic  if  not 
elaborate  sketch  of  the  personality  and  development  of  the  great  novelist,  is 
particularly  full  and  authentic  concerning  her  earlier  years,  tells  enough  of 
the  leading  motives  in  her  work  to  give  the  general  reader  a  lucid  idea  of  the 
triie  drift  and  purpose  of  her  art,  ar.d  analyzes  carefully  her  various  writings, 
with  no  attempt  at  profound  criticism  or  fine  writing,  but  with  appreciation, 
insight,  and  a  clear  grasp  of  those  underlying  psychological  principles  which 
are  so  closely  interwoven  in  every  production  that  came  from  her  pen."  — 
Traveller. 

'  The  lives  of  few  great  writers  have  attracted  more  curiosity  and  specula 
tion  than  that  of  George  Eliot.  Had  she  only  Ijved  earlier  in  the  century 
she  might  easily  have  become  the  centre  of  a  mythos.  As  it  is,  many  of  the 
anecdotes  commonly  repeated  about  her  are  made  up  largely  of  fable.  It  is, 
therefrre,  well,  before  it  is  too  late,  to  reduce  the  true  story  of  her  career  to 
the  lowest  terms,  and  this  service  has  been  well  done  by  the  author  of  the 
present  volume."  — Philadelphia  Press. 

Sold  by  all  booksellers,  or  mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of 
price,  by  the  publishers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  BOSTON. 


MESSRS.   ROBERTS   BROTHERS'    PUBLICATIONS. 
NO    NAME   (THIRD)    SERIES. 

A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  PHILISTINES, 


"  There  is  nothing  like  a  well-written  novel  to  give  the  reader  a  true  insight  of  hu 
man  life  in  all  its  phases,  its  society,  aims,  and  aspirations,  and  of  the  scenes  and  scen 
ery  in  which  it  moves.  The  '  No  Name '  novels  dp  this.  They  are  all  blight  and 
truthful,  and  of  a  refined  order;  they  are  so  good  it  is  singular  that  the  publishers, 
Roberts  Brothers,  of  Boston,  are  able  to  sell  them  at  the  cheap  price  of  one  dollar  a 
volume.  The  binding  is  tasteful,  and  the  books  are  convenient  to  handle,  just  the 
right  size  to  tuck  away  in  a  satchel,  for  reading  during  a  journey,  or  for  the  summer 
holidays.  While  one  is  entertained  by  these  charming  little  stories,  there  is  also  a 
satisfactory  feeling  that  time  is  not  wasted  in  their  perusal,  but  much  profit  gained. 
They  keep  one  abreast  with  the  times  in  many  social  directions,  and,  in  a  pleasurable 
way,  they  are  nd.ipted  lo  give  ladies  a  great  deal  of  the  general  information  of  the  day, 
in  which  many  nre  sndly  lacking.  The  '  No  Name  Series  '  is  better  and  better  the  older 
it  grows.  The  Third  Series  includes  some  of  the  best.  '  Barrington's  Fate  '  is  followed 
by  '  A  Daughter  of  the  Philistines,'  and  it  is  good  from  beginning  to  end.  .  .  .  The 
book  is  brimming  with  little  bits  of  wisdom,  and  genuine  worldly  knowledge.  .  .  . 

"  '  A  Daughter  of  the  Philistines'  does  not  claim  to  be  a  society  novel,  but  it  gives 
more  comprehensive  information  of  New  York  society  than  the  books  that  make  that 
subject  a  specialty.  It  also  depicts  faithfully  the  scheming  stock  operations  of  Wall 
street ;  but  the  ugliest  facts  of  society  and  of  stock  gambling  are  presented  with  a  re 
fined  taste  and  a  delicate  humor  that  would  please  the  most  fastidious  reader."  — 
Hartford  Times. 

"We  commend  the  story  as  a  picture  of  the  demoralizing  effect  of  Wall  Street  spec 
ulation  on  domestic  lire,  for  its  graphic  portraiture  of  fashionable  life  on  Murray  Hill, 
and  for  the  lesson  it  inculcates  of  the  misfortune  and  disaster  that  follow  in  the  train 
of  those  who  give  themselves  up  to  the  worship  of  Mammon."  —  Providence  Journal. 

"  '  A  Daughter  of  the  Philistines  '  is  one  of  the  latest  of  the  '  No  Name  Series  '  and 
it  is  the  most  interesting  of  the  collection.  Its  literary  superiority  and  originality 
strike  one  upon  its  first  page,  and  they  are  continued.  There  is  not  a  dull  page  in  the 
book."  —  Home  Journal. 

"  If  we  were  to  hazard  a  guess,  it  would  be  that  this  book  is  by  the  author  of  '  The 
House  of  a  Merchant  Prince,'  Mr.  Bishop,  of  New  York.  We  nre,  however,  it 
seems,  never  to  know  who  any  of  these  '  No  Name'  writers  are,  and  so  even  guess 
ing  is  unprofitable.  The  story  is  of  New  York  life,  and  its  incidents  lie  chiefly  among 
the  rich  and  fashionable.  The  'Philistines'  in  question  are  what  are  called  the 
nouveanx  riches  Their  character,  career,  and  end  are  sketched  in  a  way  to  show 
where  and  how  intense  worldliness  is  apt  to  bring  up.  The  'Daughter,'  however, 
has  elements  of  character  of  a  better  order,  and  falling  in  love  with  a  superior  man,  is 
by  him  saved  from  the  fate  which  at  first  threatens  her.  The  whole  is  managed  with 
the  skill  of  a  practised  writer,  with  the  insight  of  true  genius,  and  with  an  aim  which 
the  judicious  reader  fully  indorses."  —  Standard,  Chicago. 


One  Volume.     IGmo.    Brown  Cloth.    Gilt  and  Black.    Price,  &1.00. 


Our  publications  are  to  be  had  of   all   booksellers,  or  will  be  mailed, 
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ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  BOSTON. 


JlfZSSXS.   ROBERTS   BROTHERS'    PUBLICATIONS. 
NO    NAME   (THIRD)    SERIES. 

LITTLE     SISTER. 


"Tin's  last  volume  of  the  new  'No  Name'  series  is  a  tender  little  story.  It 
stands  by  itself  in  the  series.  So  far  as  we  remember,  there  is  not,  in  the  whole  long 
Hst  of  the  very  unequal  and  much-named  '  No  Names,'  another  of  its  order.  It  is  a 
bit  of  faithful  and  delicate  genre  work,  — a  sort  of  work  too  much  neglected  by  our 
story- wrights.  Their  neglect  of  it  is  perhaps  only  the  natural  result  of  the  law  of 
supply  and  demand  ;  so  large  a  proportion  of  readers  belong  to  the  class  of  that  excel 
lent  old  lady  who,  knowing  no  better  health-test  than  her  appetite  for  sensational 
narratives,  remarked  sadly  one  day  that  she  was  sure  she  must  be  ill,  for  she  had  lost 
all  her  relish  for  the  murders  in  the  newspapers.  By  readers  of  this  class  stories  like 
'Little  Sister'  are  thrown  away,  —  dismissed  as  dull,  with  a  hasty  contempt  which 
would  be  much  surprised,  no  doubt,  at  being  told  that  the  very  quality  for  which  it 
had  rejected  books  was  their  one  excellence,  namely,  every-dayness,  simplicity, 
slenderness  of  plot.  There  is  also  in  '  Little  Sister'  an  undertone  of  clear-hearted 
spirituality.  This,  without  taking  shape  in  technical  religious  phrase,  makes  itself 
felt  in  every  emergency  and  crisis  through  which  the  characters  are  carried,  and  is  far 
more  likely  to  cast  its  weight  on  the  right  side  of  balances  for  the  very  silence  and 
reserve  in  which  its  presence  is  wrapped."  —  "//.  H"  in  The  Critic. 

"  '  Little  Sister  '  is  a  recent  addition  to  that  deservedly  popular  series  whose  name 
is'  No  Name."  It  is  a  bright,  sweet,  simple  story.  There  is  no  villain  and  no  adven 
turess.  The  plot  is  just  such  a  one  as  is  woven  daily  by  the  incidents,  sorrows,  joys, 
common  to  the  majority  of  lives.  The  unassuming  little  heroine  is  what  every  woman 
should  be,  —  a  silent  power  for  good.  She  illustrates  in  her  quiet  life  the  beauty  of 
unselfishness.  There  are  sparkles  of  bubbling  laughter  and  touches  of  tender  grief, 
and  on  every  page  some  useful  lesson  to  sink  into  the  heart  and  bear  fruit."  —  The 
Chicago  Tribune. 

"  It  is  not  every  day  that  brings  a  novel  so  wholesome,  so  homely  (in  the  best 
sense  of  the  word),  so  simple,  so  true  to  life,  so  full  of  common  sense,  so  bright,  and  so 
interesting  as  '  Little  Sister.'  There  is  not  a  character  in  it  whom  one  would  not  like 
to  know  ;  and  that  is  the  greatest  compliment,  because  the  scene  is  laid  in  Philadelphia. 
.  .  .  It  is  a  genuinely  '  match-making'  book,  but  withal  the  story  is  so  healthy  that  it 
might  well  prove  infectious.  It  is  the  kind  of  a  novel  that  makes  one  feel  that  life  is 
worth  living."  —  The  Philadelphia  Press. 


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